


Dagnir Ellethwen

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Fellowship of the Ring, Multi-Age, This is mostly humor and action, but it has some mature themes. An AU fanfic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2004-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power of visions can be conjured to obscure one’s fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.<br/>Warning: This is mostly humor and action, but it has some mature themes. An AU fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lá Hrívë, Neverwinter

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Cermië (July) 12, 2986 T.A.

Morning was glorious in that wood, for it was nearly midsummer indeed, and the mallorns were in full bloom. Their great silvery green leaves reflected light in every direction. The heavy dew rose from the warm sodden ground in shining mists and several parts were wholly covered in fog. The moon could be seen still sitting low in the sky, even though day had dawned: it was as if she was loth (“unwilling or reluctant to do something”) to the skies over the wood, and lingered there like a sad lover. Birds were exceedingly noisy, calling to one another, ‘admire me, admire me!’ Deer paused in their feeding to look up at the passing company, then returned unconcerned to their moist greens. Squirrels clucked at unseen enemies still crouching in the ferns, or returning silently to their holes and caves. A nightjar (“a nocturnal bird that has a short bill, a gaping mouth, and dark plumage, or feathers”) passed, the last until evening, and nestled into its nook drowsily. It blinked slowly and ruffled, backing into bed. Far from the center of the forest there were still a few narrow pines and white-barked birch, eyeing the company with its strange markings. Nevertheless, the mallorns predominated. What the mallorns lacked in size, compared to the ronde-limbes of Fangorn, they made up with beauty. Whereas the ronde-limbes blocked or filtered the light, these mallorns enhanced it. The already rosy morning light was softened further with a blue-green sheen, and the water vapors also dispersed the beams, turning the air into something tangible (“able to be touched or perceived through the sense of touch”). The saturated colour of everything around them was a delight in itself, no matter what it was of itself. An ordinary rock, that one would never have noticed in another place, here became a translucent (“glowing appearance, as if light were coming through”) shimmering creature, almost seeming to breathe. One would expect it to rise up and swim away, like some cerulean turtle in a deep pool. The whole forest seemed to swim in a current of colour and mist, ferns swaying in the morning breeze like seaweed in the tide.

After travelling for many days, the fair company stopped for breakfast. Fires were lit in a twinkling and a lovely cloth spread upon the ground. Airy cakes, fresh berries, thick cream, and a hot drink steeped from some subtle herb. It seemed to evaporate immediately from the tongue, rising through the nose and all of the hot drinks like the fog around them. It was like drinking mist; like drinking a sweet steam distilled from mint and honeysuckle.

The company consisted of seven elves of close kin, and different are they, but all the same, descendants of the Fire Spirit Lord Faernor and Nerdanel the Wise were they. Their robes were of deep blue and green that shimmered in the morning light, like thickest taffeta (“stiff shiny silk”). All had hair the color of a vibrant red flame and wore copper circlets, but six of them had chest-length hair, without wave or curl, and the youngest one had hair that fell to their knees, shiny and full of luster in the morning light. That colour contrasted strangely with their alabaster skin, not reddened by the sun but for a patch of light vermilion on each cheek. Their ears were likewise of the same hue, when these could be seen through the hair, and their lips were a madder lake, crimson as fresh blood. Seven wore their hair in one long plait down their backs, and the seventh one wore theirs loosely, letting it cascade down their backs and frame their angular face tinted with silver. The eyes of the seven were the colour of a vivid emerald with flecks of golden glints. Their shirts were white and high-collared, worn tight in the chest and waist. They each had a fair necklace of mithril chain and on it hung a grey-blue jewel and their buckles and studs were marvelously wrought. Each bore a long curved sword in a leather scabbard upon the horses’ withers and their bows and arrows on the decorative breastplate of each horse. The majestic white steeds were equipped with quilted numnahs, but no saddles, stirrups or bridles were used.

When done with their meal the elvish company continued on through the wood. The day warmed quickly, and the mists retreated as the sun rose higher. The fog was replaced by high clouds, soft and slow against the very blue sky. Butterflies emerged and began fluttering about. Many wildflowers decorated the heavy underbrush of the forest; the trees and rocks themselves were covered with hanging and creeping flowers, or with colourful mosses and lichens. All about them was the smell of oncoming summer. A smell of wet earth and fragrant herb and rain came down from the mountains. The great horses of the elves kicked up muddy clods of rich soil as they walked. Little pools of fresh water lay about them, flickering in the cups and saucers and concavities of rock and root. Often they crossed streams or little dancing rills, chattering through stony channels, fresh and clear. The hooves of the horses sent echoing knocks through the woods as they clicked across stone and pebble. At last, the fair company came to a road. The path ended and a wide straightway opened up, canopied with ever-larger mallorns marching north. After less than a league upon this straight road a bridge appeared ahead, a narrow arch of white stone. Beneath it ran the Celebrant or Silverlode in the common tongue. The elves took their horses alongside of themselves and mounted, riding over the bridge into the Naith of Lorien. Underneath the bridge were the rushing white waters, with the spring runoff from the Misty Mountains. In the Naith the company met with many other elves, alone or in-groups, passing both north and south, and as they progressed North and East (the road curved in a great arc, going further east as it advanced) the traffic increased, and soon the road was well-nigh full of travelers making their way to the great city as it neared as dusk approached. The trees about them had become one great mass of mallorns of an infinite height, since their crossing of the Celebrant. No end of them could be seen, not on either side, nor upwards. With twilight, the fantastic light of the dusk had returned rosy and palest blue at the same time. The vermilion in the cheeks of the elves became lavender and their lips took on a violet cast in the deepening shadow. Moths began to replace the butterflies of the morning, and a few bats and nightjars could be seen flitting through the evening, looking for the choicest insects.

Near the gate, Curunarfin (“sindarin for skillful flamed hair, or skillful noble hair”), the eldest of the seven, traded words with a tall elf coming from the city; but he was not the gatekeeper, but only a citizen of Caras Galadhon. The elf of the city pointed back to the north, making signs that they would have to climb a hill, and then an intersection of two different roads. The eight elves thanked him, and passing through the gate, rode north. The way was paved with large white stones, marble brought down from the Misty Mountains at the end of the First Age. Its surface was worn into smoothest concavities from the light step of countless travelers, and the cart path nigh was also worn from long use. Ahead the light from the lanterns, shining like silver moonbeams from the many trees, reflected the surface of the path as from the surface of a mountain lake. Soon, another road came into view, and the seventh one traveled it, going further north as their kin went eastward.

A fair garden came into view where the white marble path ended, and as they dismounted, a familiar silver haired elf emerged from the silver leafed flowers. Hastening to meet them, they extended their arms, later encircled in an embrace, as doves and nightingales flew above in the mallorn’s canopies. “Mae Govannen, Narilvrin (“sindarin for translucent brilliance of fire”) my beloved gwanur (sister by blood from afar), how do you fare? They asked, stepping back to look at her. “I am quite fine Celeborn, nothing would be more better but to visit Lothlorien once again during midsummer, but I do have some things that I would ask of you.” She replied. Celeborn smiled. “That is good to hear. Come, let us walk into the garden, and as you have said, you do need my assistance, so indeed I will provide it.” Leading Narilvrin through the silver light lit gardens filled with white niphredils and golden elanors, Celeborn pondered on what his cousin could be speaking of needed assistance. ‘Quite a bafflement’ he thought. Moments later they came to a white marble bench near a great waterfall, both surrounded with silver barked mallorns. The Lord of Lorien turned to Narilvrin, thinking of what to say. So alike, yet different, Celeborn thought while gazing into his cousin’s emerald and golden flecked eyes. Like a flash of lightning, Celeborn perceived the brooding aura emanating from Narilvrin, and it saddened him. The female elf sighed heavily and smiled ruefully, though it came out as a grimace. Facing him, they conversed through their thoughts, hearing or seeing things that need not be said aloud. Celeborn tried his best to find the ailment within as visions of life, love, grief, and death flowed throughout Narilvrin’s mind. This however, is what dealt the painstaking blow to her and broke the intense gaze. She stood abruptly and strode near the waterfall, her head in her slender hands. The silver haired lord regretted what he had done and came near to her, and placing his hands upon her shoulders, brought her into a different part in the garden. Silence hung dangerously in the air until Narilvrin spoke. “I do not know what to do anymore. I am fully drawn to him but he is a mortal, and so I am torn between what I desire the most.” The usual calm but fiery voice of Narilvrin had dwindled to become soft and quiet; for the first time, her calm deadpan countenance betrayed her true feelings, even though her emerald golden eyes still held the light of a great fire. “You should do what your heart tells the more of.” “That is good to hear then, for I am now contemplating my plans for the future, Hannon lle (Thank you).” “As it is to me my cousin…as it is to me.” Celeborn agreed.

Narilvrin had found her brothers, either talking or pulling pranks on their fellow elven friends. Taking leave from the Lord and saying farewell, she immediately saw hidden in the bushes her two elder twin brothers, Celegfin (hasty skill) and Amarthfin (fated skill), sneak up behind Galadhlór (tree-golden, referring to his height and golden hair), one of their friends. The twin’s sister watched, hidden by the mallorns, as the brothers poured cold river water over the elf’s head. He had been deeply in thought and did not realize his friends behind him that is until the water fell. Galadhlór quickly whirled around to see Celegfin and Amarthfin running off, laughing crazily; he swiftly took off after them, yelling something obscure but funny nonetheless. The rest of the elves laughed at their humorous antics, but one voice stood out, rich and melodious amongst the rest. The flame haired elleth espied a blond haired elf with sapphire eyes attired in dark green and brown conversing with Amfin (high skill), her brother. Narilvrin whistled softly and harking to her whistle was a tall silver haired elf with bright blue eyes. “Why hello Anglin (song of steel), it seems that you are doing well.” Narilvrin whispered to Anglin and gestured to the blond haired elf. The Elf silently bounded off into the bushes, towards the groups of elves. The Elf watched in anticipation, chuckling at the obliviousness of the group. Later on, a rustle in the bushes caused one to turn around, “What’s wrong Legolas?” Amfin asked, frowning. In that moment, a silver blur jumped out, and landed on the Mirkwood Elf, who was both surprised and almost frightened at the sight before him. “Aye, Anglin, well met my good friend,” he said. Amfin started laughing, and soon everyone else joined in, even Narilvrin. She stepped out and strode towards the big hill full of elves. Curunarfin saw them and said “Quel undome Narilvrin my sister. I expect that this has something to do with you.” Pointing towards Legolas and Anglin, now wrestling, but the silver-haired Elf kept pinning the other elf down.

And so, they talked for a time of things that came and went until Narilvrin took leave and left, Anglin accompanying her, while the rest stayed under the cover of mallorns and of Ithil’s shining light.


	2. Lasselanta Mittamin, Autumn Equinox Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Boromir, the First Son and Heir to the Stewardship of Gondor looked about him. Everywhere the hidden valley of Imladris glowed with the fullness of Autumn. The very air shone with a clarity he had never before witnessed, giving each tree in its chosen raiment of red or gold a particular glory. Even the fading brown and gray warning of winter seemed luminous here.  
It displeased him greatly.  
He had been an honored guest in the House of Elrond for nearly five days already, though the first few he had spent recuperating from his long journey North. Moreover, although he had been given a large room, well appointed and richly furnished, he left it as soon as he was able. Close by he had found a wealth in objects, comforts, and amusements fit to rival even the King’s House of Gondor in Minas Tirith, the city in which he had been born and had always lived; the city from which he would some day rule Gondor.  
In every banquet room he discovered, every library, every hall he explored he had found Elves – Elves laughing, Elves singing, Elves reading, sporting, working, resting and sometimes just standing around. And though they always welcomed him, accorded him the respect of his heritage and station and often, even, invited him to join them in whatever past time they were occupied they gave him no ease.  
Even the house itself made him uncomfortable with its airy passages, translucent ceilings, and walls that were often more openings than, well, walls. It quickly drove him outside. He found he missed the plain and confident stone of Minas Tirith, the square streets and quarried stairs, the orderliness of its seven circles, seven offset gates and crowning white tower; The White Tower of Ecthelion named for his forefather and for which the White City in turn was named, the Tower of Guard of which he was Captain.  
Boromir found himself muttering the passwords to each gate and circle like a charm as he left Elrond’s house and searched out Imladris itself one morning. He had been loitering about the house too long waiting a summons from Elrond to discuss his mission, his reason for being there. It was a dream had guided him and like a dream, it seemed. Rivendell he soon discovered was well named: countless small vales, hollows and leas were to be found within easy distance of the Last Homely House, many with their own sparkling brook or stream chattering secretly to itself as it sought the Bruinen. He could only imagine it was all even more lovely even than glory that had once been Ithillen, the wooded land of which, as a youth, he had learned every tree though it had long before been spoiled by the Enemy.  
In one, particularly broad vale Boromir came across a group of Elves contesting at some kind of sword contest of skill. Many were the dark haired and silver clad folk of Rivendell, but among them were the blond haired elves arrayed in green and brown. They all laughed as they sparred, teased and called to each other and for the some reason to observe their merriment finally caught Boromir, and he stopped nearby to observe them and their game. The joy and camaraderie with which they vied belied a fearsome competition, the Gondorian soon realized. Each pair took turns fencing against their selected opponent, dodging and parrying a hurling sword blade. It was clear to see who was winning, however; one Elf seemed to receive the most cheers and accolades. The elleth was tall, contrasting against elf women of smaller stature, but lithe and had very long vibrant flame red that fell to her knees, wearing a dark blue and black tunic. Boromir found himself familiar with the elf maiden’s alabaster hued face with hints of light vermilion in the cheeks on and ears, the blood coloured lips, the vivid emerald green eyes with golden glints in them, and her noticeable curves.

There was a burst of applause when the swordsmaiden succeeded in knocking the other sword clear in the air, and caught it as it fell. As all the players joined in the celebration, Boromir surmised that the game must have been won, but still he stayed leaning against his tree at the edge of the greensward as the victorious Elf was approached by a competitor in green and brown.

“Your skill with the sword is formidable, Narilvrin. I would not have said one of our kin of Imladris could best an archer of Mirkwood had I not seen it here today.”  
Far from taking offence at this reverse compliment, the victor only smiled more broadly and gave a small bow as the others gathered around.  
“Indeed,” spoke a teammate; “I hardly know why we let her play as she always wins.”

 

“You hope, Tatharhin (Willow child), that my skill will rub off on you as I continue to hope you will become more of a challenge.”  
As the group laughed freely Boromir, from beneath his tree, noted that Elves seemed to delight as much in teasing and good-natured insults as in more fair conduct. Perhaps, he thought, there was something to like about them after all.  
“Shall we have another game?” The woodland Elf of Mirkwood addressed the victor.  
“By all means” she replied and then, much to his surprise, waved a graceful hand in Boromir’s own direction. “But look. Nearby I see our gallant visitor from the South. Perhaps he will join us and we will see what of archery or strategy can be learned from him for I hear he is a mighty warrior.” Then, as the others stood about loosely, the fair archer approached Boromir. “What say you, Man of Gondor, will you come and play with us?”  
The Steward’s son straightened politely but sought to wave the archer off even as she neared. “Nay, I will not, though I must thank you for the invitation.”  
“Have you found a surfeit of rest and amusement in the House of Elrond that you refuse our game?”  
Boromir watched with some irritation as the Elf stopped scant feet from him and sheathed her bright curved sword inside a leather scabbard. He could see her ever-present laughter waiting patiently behind a small grin and her emerald golden flecked eyes glinted with a sharp fiery light of its own.  
“I came here seeking neither rest nor amusement,” he replied brusquely.  
However, the fair Archer would not be discouraged. “But you are unhappy here, that much is plain.”  
At heart, Boromir bristled at her forthrightness. “I am idle, and idleness always makes me unhappy,” he growled.  
But she only laughed in reply, a gentle rippling laugh like wine uncorked. “Come, Son of Gondor; there are many things in Rivendell to occupy the mind or body of any willing to seek them out. Let me be your guide. I have before met a Man from the South, but mostly Men of the North, and I would be glad of the opportunity to know you better. Will you meet me on the morrow? If I can find nothing to amuse you before noon you may discharge me and I will trouble you no longer. What do you say?”  
Despite his black and restless mood, Boromir found himself rising to the challenge. Waiting for Elrond’s summons had been an irritation to him; perhaps he needed a change of strategy.  
“I will. But who shall I ask for about the house tomorrow?”

The Elf laughed “There is no need. I will come to you. And I am called Narilvrin, which is ‘translucent brilliance of flame’ in your tongue, though I like Eldawingil (Quenya: Elf Nymph) better.”  
With a grin she turned and gracefully loped back to the players waiting for her. Boromir did not stay to see the next match but stepped backwards until the tree he had been leaning on obscured his view. Then he turned and pointed his boots back towards the House of Elrond, a curious smile teasing the corners of his mouth.


	3. Lasselanta Mittatta, Autumn Equinox Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

The morrow dawned fair and warm. Boromir had little time to wonder what his new Elf companion might have in store for him before his musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.  
It was Narilvrin, as promised, smiling brightly and, as Boromir was learning, characteristically. Trays and bowls of food covered every inch of her open arms and seemed to drape across her chest even as an earthenware pitcher dangled from one dainty pinky finger. She nodded to the Steward’s son in greeting and then brushed past him as he moved to divest her of her burden. Almost before he had turned around, she was laying her provisions out on a small table he had all but ignored on his balcony.  
There was fresh fruit, small oatmeal-like cakes, soft butter and jams along with a sweet yellow bread – thick and spongy at the center – heavily flavored with honey and spices. The pitcher turned out to contain a brewed herbal drink softened with milk that Boromir found palatable and warming. After a short period of much eating and very little talk the Elf maid and the Man both pushed back their chairs and stretched out their feet in the morning sunshine.  
“So,” Narilvrin was the first to break the satisfied silence, looking over the edge of a book “What shall it be? I can only think that your unhappiness here must spring from your ignorance of our ways and our valley since all others who visit or dwell here are joyful. Therefore, I have planned an extensive tour to broaden your view. But it is you must choose the starting point, take the first step, as it were. What will you have? Indoors or Out? Choose well, Mortal, for my continued company depends on your satisfaction and I would see more of you.”  
The ancient pride of the Steward’s son rose up in Boromir at the Elf’s imperious tone even as its owner leaned abruptly forward in his chair. However, there he was met by a mischievous smile dancing over Narilvrin’s delicate crimson lips, forcing them from a mock frown and back to her usual look of merriment. Boromir could not help but smile himself, then and sat back to consider his invitation more closely.  
“Indoors, I believe, My Lady Elf. We will leave outside for the full warmth and blossom of the day. What say you?”  
Across the table the Narilvrin smiled happily and nodded her head as she rose from the table. “I would not have known a Man could have such fair words and well-measured thoughts.”  
*****************  
Boromir felt his spirits begin to lift even as he followed Narilvrin out his door, along many corridors, through the House of Elrond and beyond. He was finding the company of this Elf to be unlike any other; since crossing the Gap of Rohan and leaving familiar country – could it have been over two months before? – he had felt as though he were walking among legends and dreams. At her side, he was beginning to get his footing again.  
And, perhaps more important, thanks to her he was no longer waiting about Rivendell for Elrond’s summons like an errand boy in an antechamber. The farther Narilvrin led him away from his room the more his nobility return. His back straightened, his head rose, his stride lengthened. Still he had to work to keep up as Narilvrin strode longer before him, the diffuse light of morning shining along the full length of her freely flowing red hair.

Before long the Elf maid had brought Boromir to what he could only guess was the very bottom of the gorge that was Rivendell. There, along the banks of the Loudwater they came upon several clusters of buildings. Some were low, some tall but all clearly of Elvish design and purpose. Through their open doors Boromir glimpsed Elves hard at work, though to him their work appeared very similar to their play as they joked and argued good-naturedly amongst themselves.  
Narilvrin recaptured his attention with a broad gesture. “Here dwell and work many of our finest artisans: glassblowers, potters, weavers, gold- and silversmiths as well as many others. Here we create all we need to live amongst ourselves.” Indeed, along the Loudwater Boromir saw representatives of all the trades he had ever known from Minas Tirith or the Pelennor surrounding.  
He raised a brow in surprise. “I was not aware Elves performed labor at occupation or engaged in commerce of any kind.”  
“No,” Narilvrin’s answering laugh echoed off the nearby buildings. “Here we do as we please! Some take pleasure in exercising their minds, some in working their hands in steel or clay. Is it not so where you come from?”  
Despite his good mood Boromir could not stop a darkening frown. “Where I come from we do as we must,” he growled. The thought went unfinished that fulfilling his duty was all that stood between their pleasure and the Enemy’s.  
However, Narilvrin’s hand alighting gently on his own hand roused him again. “Here is our destination.” She pointed upland to another grouping of workshops. “Come.” She spoke calmly, and when Boromir looked up he was surprised to see concern in her emerald-gold eyes. They held the gaze until the Elf maid turned away, a hint of a blush upon her cheeks, now hidden by waterfall of fell fire. “Here I believe you will see much to delight you.” Narilvrin finally said softly yet firm.  
The Elf maid turned and led Boromir upland to a group of buildings somewhat larger and darker than the rest. Black smoke pushed its way out of their chimneys over windows set high in walls that otherwise had no feature. There strange sounds came to Boromir’s ears – the ring of hammers, breath of bellows, whine of sharpening wheels – sounds of industry almost forgotten in the more than 100 days he had passed since leaving Gondor.  
Without announcement his Elf guide pushed upon a heavy oaken door and gestured for Boromir to proceed. Inside, the warrior recognized a forge, an armory even, though it was unlike any he had ever seen. The light filtered in from above to illuminate an airy and orderly workspace and reflected, to Boromir’s wonder, off countless pieces of burnished arms and armor. As he stepped in his eyes landed on a long curved blade that dangled near the door; but they couldn’t rest there. In a few short moments he glutted his sight – in each blade he thought the maker to have found the perfect marriage of artistry and deadly strength until he beheld the next. He felt rather than saw Narilvrin slip past him, her feather-like hand barely brushing his back. She disappeared into the shadowy depths of the forge, and a few moments later, the Elf maid returned with the swordsmith.

He was very tall, flame red haired and sharp featured. Though his skin was luminous and perfect, the lines of his jaw and nose were not at all feminine. His eyebrows were full and low and slightly arched, continuing well beyond the outer edge of his eye. The face was wide at the light grey eyes, tapering to the chin, his cheeks with a slight hollow. He wore a dark blue tunic with traces of silver and gold, bearing the tengwar inscription of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. From a fine chain of mithril hung a grey-blue stone of some source unknown by Boromir. Though it was obvious to Boromir he could not have said how he knew the Elf was young even among elves. There was something in his eyes, his sharp featured face, and his very bearing that bespoke of many years spent on this earth. He looked at Boromir for a moment, then grinned slightly, even though he had been disturbed rather abruptly. “This is Angmir (Jewel of Steel) my nephew, I will leave you two to yourselves.” With that Narilvrin strode away and took a seat on one side of the forge, leaving Boromir to face the smithy.

Frowning somewhat Angmir the Swordsmith reached down a particularly deadly looking piece, with the image of a dragon riding down its blade that glowed red in the firelight. “Would you use this for a game?”  
Boromir, recognizing an invitation, stepped forward and took the sword from the Elf’s long hand. It was surprisingly heavy, but finely balanced and seemed almost to vibrate as if waiting impatiently in his hand. He stepped back and swung the blade a few times and then held it out again to marvel at its craftsmanship.  
“No, indeed!” he almost crowed. “This I would use to carve a path to the Black Tower from the gates of Minas Tirith itself though all the hordes of Mordor stood about me. It is a fine blade!”  
“Fine! ‘Fine’, he says, and such bold words.” Frowning, but not totally displeased, the young Elf turned and made his way to the back of the room muttering to himself. “Such brave words! No, Steward’s Son,” he turned back to his guest. “For such a battle you would not use that, you would use this!”  
So saying he produced yet another blade, more finely carved and fashioned than the last for Boromir to try. Thus through the morning the swordsmith brought out blade after blade, each one eagerly and tested by the soldier until they came to sit, Angmir spinning stories, telling of each blade’s making, for whom it was wrought, the meaning of each symbol, leaf and whorl, Boromir listening intently.  
Thus the morning passed quickly and unnoticed. Through it all Narilvrin sat back listening, her eyes sparkling with the firelight of the forge and the risen flame of Boromir’s happiness; a flame of spirit she seen in him from the first; a smoldering flame left dangerously unattended. But now it glowed brightly and steadily and Narilvrin was pleased to share in its warmth.  
Too soon, it seemed to Boromir, his Elven guide gently extracted him from the forge and the old smith’s company to continue their tour.  
As they left the forge, the Elf Maid addressed him. “Well, my friend, I think we have succeeded in feeding your spirit somewhat. What say you we feed our bodies? Are you not hungry after so much talk and good company? I myself am starving and I have only watched and listened this whole morning. Come!”  
*****************  
Narilvrin brought Boromir out of the valley and back into the depths of the last Homely House. Here the smell of fresh-baked bread, roasting meats and sweet things assaulted him and the soldier found his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering most uncontrollably. Narilvrin guided him to a small refectory table standing empty in a sun-drenched alcove not far from the kitchens and left to gather their lunch.  
When she returned the pair eagerly tucked into a tray full of cold roast chicken, cider, pears and a fresh loaf of the honeyed bread they had so enjoyed with breakfast. Between mouthfuls, Boromir grunted happily.  
“Narilvrin, you make me feel young again. When I was small, my brother Faramir and I roamed our city freely, but most often spent our mealtimes tucked into a corner of the great kitchen of the King’s House not unlike this. The cooks and servants spoiled us most satisfactorily.”  
His remembrance made Narilvrin laugh becomingly. “This place is dear to me; I am pleased you share my feelings. Nevertheless, I am surprised that you were allowed such freedom as a youth, even in your own city. I would have thought the Steward’s Sons too precious to go unguarded.”  
Then a shadow fell over Boromir’s fair countenance and reigned in his speech grown full and easy with the morning’s company. “It was the year my mother fell ill; the attentions of many were elsewhere. She died at high summer and my father grieved for her most sorely. Faramir and I …” he paused to choose his words; “preferred to absent ourselves in those long days.”  
For a long moment silence settled in between them, the Elf and the Man. Then Narilvrin spoke quietly.  
“Indeed, even in Rivendell is the beauty and kindness of the Fair Finduilas remembered. The loss of such a soul is often felt far beyond its dwelling.”  
Her words brought Boromir back from the world outside their window to find Narilvrin’s eyes glinting again. He reached across and covered her small hand with his for a moment, but chose not to withdraw it.  
But in another moment the Elf-maid’s customary lightheartedness returned. She leaned forward with a teasing smirk. “And what of your brother, Faramir? Into what manner of man has that errant youth grown?”  
Boromir grunted again, and shared her smile. “My little brother?” Then he sat back and Narilvrin was pleased to see pride growing in Boromir’s mind’s eye. “He is a valiant leader and much admired by his men, and by rights he should be sitting here instead of me. But Faramir’s heart lies more in books and old scrolls than in steel and hard living. He has oft been a pupil of Mithrandir the Wizard, much to my father’s displeasure. Sadly, there is much enmity between them.” Then a thought brought him forward again, a proud and cocky smile teasing his lips. “I do not think it is his fate to rule Gondor!”  
“O Boromir!” Laughing, Narilvrin reached across the narrow table and tapped her companion’s forehead with a warm and gentle finger. “Such sensitivity! Such prescience! You have been too long among Elves, my Lord! I feel we must leave this place at once!”  
*****************  
After dispensing with the detritus of their meal Narilvrin brought Boromir to the stables of Rivendell, selected a mount for him and the two spent the afternoon exploring the slopes of the Misty Mountains away from Rivendell and Elven kind. They contentedly kept the warm sun, sharp air and clear day only to themselves.  
Nevertheless, before long Boromir’s gentle mood began to give way. Even the rocky slope of the Misty Mountains near Rivendell had an orderliness that Boromir found disquieting. Over frequently he and Narilvrin would happen on a diminutive glade or patch of wild flowers, which bespoke of the meddling hand of the Elves, had been at work. As they continued to ride, Boromir thought more and more of Mount Mindolluin and the White Mountains of his homeland. Their treacherous scree, sudden storms and barren rock faces showed the had had their own way in the world for many an age. Boromir found he missed them acutely.  
Before long he suggested to Narilvrin that they turn back, and when they returned the sun had set and lamps were being lit in the many halls and chambers of Rivendell.  
Still, as they walked the halls together back to his room Boromir found he was well and truly tired for the first time since his arrival and he looked forward to a quiet, simple meal, perhaps even a bath. He suspected he would sleep well and uninterrupted for the first time since leaving Minas Tirith.  
When they reached his door Narilvrin turned to address him.  
“Well, My Lord, have you enjoyed your day?”  
Boromir inclined his head in gratitude. “Yes, Narilvrin, I thank you I have.”  
“Then will you permit me to attend you again tomorrow? We have put your body at ease, I think. Now it is time we exercised your mind, and to that end I have planned several indoor pursuits.”  
”Indoor?”  
And Narilvrin gave him a slight grin. “Yes” She lifted her hand toward his balcony and the sky outside. Boromir’s eyes followed to see stars just beginning to show.  
“Tomorrow it is going to rain!”


	4. Lasselanta Mittanelya, Autumn Equinox Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

As Narilvrin had promised, Boromir woke to find Rivendell enjoying a light but drenching rainfall. It alighted on the leaves and grass almost lovingly and, as he stretched languorously in his bed, the Man begrudgingly reflected on its beauty. It was an unfamiliar sensation for the Captain of the Guard of Minas Tirith to wake at his leisure and have no plan for the day, but Boromir resolved to enjoy it, to see it as a gift from his Elven benefactress. He stretched again, the crisp warm sheets and light blanket sliding across his well-muscled chest. Then he stirred as the thought occurred to him she might arrive to find him naked and unprepared. And so he rose to wash and dress, his thoughts wending idly about his companion and new found friend.  
The gentle mood Narilvrin had created in him had banished the irritated restlessness and proud effrontery that had festered in Boromir from boredom and idleness. So much so that last night he had left his quarters again after a quiet and satisfying meal to see what new amusement Elrond’s house might hold for him. Perhaps at the back of his mind was the idea he might find her again, wile the evening hours by her side, satisfy a growing curiosity as to how her deep emerald green-gold eyes might look in moon and starlight. What he had found had been something quite different.  
The memory of that disturbing encounter had only a moment to chill his spirit before a gentle knock was heard at his door. It was Narilvrin, coming as if fashioned from his thoughts, arms laden with food and drink in an echo of the day before.  
Again they shared his small balcony table, out of reach of the whispering rain, and their memories of the previous day holding each one up to the other and laughing at the comparison. Before long, they rose, and Elf maid and Man were once again out the door and traversing the corridors of Rivendell.  
But this time Narilvrin led Boromir to a place he had already explored and rejected. The unmistakable smell of moldy leather and aged parchment came to the Man’s nose as they approached a pair of arched doors made of Beech-wood and bound with silver; a smell that had sent him back down this corridor and away once before. He halted. Only a moment ahead, Narilvrin pivoted gracefully to face him, a question on her angular Elven face.  
She saw in a moment that shadows had returned to Boromir’s brow and darkened his gray-green eyes.  
“Narilvrin, do you mean to take me to a library?”  
“I do, my Lord. Does that displease you?” Narilvrin cocked her head to one side; her hair falling like flames downs her shoulders. Boromir gave a short bark of a laugh. “Perhaps after our conversation yesterday it is my brother Faramir you more desire for companion. He is the reader, not I. My skill is with steel and strength, not scroll and tome.” He made as if to turn on his heels but Narilvrin darted forward a step to stop him.  
“But, you can read, can’t you?”  
Boromir drew himself up to his full height, only few inches greater than hers, and inclined his honeyed head to stare down into her eyes, now sparkling with challenge. Still he growled at her:  
“Take a care, Maid, I am Boromir son of Denethor, Steward’s Son of Gondor and Captain of the White Tower, not an ignorant errand boy.” He knew she was goading him, and Boromir cursed his own fiery temper as he heard his words resound haughtily in Elvish archways; still he could not bank it.  
But the Elf maid was not daunted. She moved still closer, her lips now tugging upward. “Of this I am assured, but can you read?”  
Boromir narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. She was so close, he could almost feel the warmth of her body emanating through the dark green tunic that draped her body. He found it hard to frown at her so near.  
But his new friend only laughed at his display, and in her laughter Boromir heard fondness and understanding. She laid a gentle hand on his folded arm and spoke mildly.  
“Still you do not trust me, Boromir? Did I lead you false yesterday? Are you not now more at ease here among Elven folk after our time together? Come. I believe there is beyond these doors that which will interest you greatly.” She turned so abruptly her fiery locks brushed his chest as she tossed a last challenge over her shoulder and reached for the entrance. “Will you admit defeat before you have even seen the enemy? I would not have believed it of you, Soldier of Gondor.”  
*****************  
Inside they found a large table in an out-of-the-way corner, well lit by a window. Somewhat to Boromir’s dismay it was already covered with beribboned scrolls and large volumes bound in leather and precious metals. The rapport between them somewhat restored, Narilvrin flopped down into a large, cushioned chair obviously meant for long spells of reading and study. She absently rocked it back onto two feet as her mortal companion began to investigate the table.  
Frowning he untied one scroll, and then another, and then another. Then he turned to the books: each one was covered in the flowing script of the Elves, more beautiful than anything he had yet beheld on parchment and completely impenetrable.  
He let the last close noisily. “These are in Elvish!”  
With a chuckle Narilvrin’s chair clacked to the floor. “Of course they are!”  
Suddenly a hissing like flustered geese met their ears as unseen Elven folk all about voiced their disturbance.  
Boromir’s mouth fell open in surprise but closed again in a complicitous smile when he saw Narilvrin’s eyes glinting and her delicate hands fight to smother her ever-present laughter. She looked to him like a mischievous child until she rose from her seat and came to stand by him.  
The Elf Maid opened one of the rejected scrolls, her voice low and rippling. “They are written in Elvish as they were written by Elves! Here, Soldier of Gondor, are many accounts of battles fought long ago and rarely recounted in the histories of Men. It was my hope that I could read them to you and you would explain them to me for, I must confess, the art of warfare is one that I do somewhat understand.”  
So saying she gestured to Boromir to take the chair she had left, wagging her finger marmishly at him when he began to rock it back in roguish imitation of her.  
So they spent the morning, Narilvrin often perched on a corner of the library table, reading quietly to Boromir of long-ago battles between Elves and the foes of Middle Earth. She was well pleased; the librarians had fulfilled her requests to them beyond her hopes – here also they found tales of the founding of Gondor and Arnor filled with the brave deeds of Men, Men to whom Boromir could claim proud kinship. As the morning wore on, she watched with satisfaction as the dark clouds thinned and passed away from his brow and, like sun following storm, light shone in his gray-green eyes. After a time, the soldier abandoned his seat to pace about as he listened, or illustrate with broad gestures, maps and diagrams the maneuvers and strategy of various armies and skirmishes. Often, Elf and Man had to school their spirits, less they disturb the other readers hidden about them.  
Late afternoon found them still in the library, the table and floor now littered with opened scrolls, the stubs of candles, empty cups and plates. Narilvrin was just finishing an account of a battle that had Boromir pacing as it teased his brain with familiarity.  
At last, he let out a short bark of a laugh in discovery.  
“The children of Gondor play a game based on this battle!”  
“Do they?” He watched in wonder and amusement as Narilvrin, sitting on the table, clapped her hands all but silently, crossed her legs, appearing very serious. “Will you show me?”  
“All right. But be warned,” Boromir paused in his efforts to create a game board and find counters from what lay about them; “it is deceptively simple in appearance!”  
The Elf countered good naturedly, turning the board about so that the crockery pieces faced her and the eating utensils were before Boromir.  
With a wink she teased him. “I think perhaps you should be silver and I should be clay, my Lord of Gondor!”  
Sitting happily on the table in the fading light (as each might have done in younger days) they began. Each taking turns placing pieces on the board and then moving them along drawn lines to surround and capture their opponent’s counters. The first game fell quickly to Boromir, and the second, but each successive match grew longer with Narilvrin’s growing understanding. Boromir soon found that archery was not all could arouse her competitive nature.  
As they sat, deep in thought, seeking to divine the other’s strategy the mortal Man worried a fresh cut on his thumb. With Narilvrin puzzling thoughtfully over her next play, he cautiously broached a subject that had been growing in his mind since breakfast.  
“Narilvrin, last night, after dinner, I wondered into a part of the house I had not seen before.”  
“Hmmm?” The Elf did not look up but continued to consider the board. She took a breath. “Sometimes I think our feet only take us where we are when we are ready to go there.” Then she made her move and looked up. “What did you see?  
Boromir reached for a fork and removed one of Narilvrin’s mugs from the board. “There was a painting of Isildur cleaving the ring from Sauron’s hand, and nearby an altar-like statue holding the shards of Narsil itself.”  
Narilvrin frowned at the game, and her loss of a man. “Yes. I know that hall. You were near the heart of the house itself.” She made another move, a plate.  
Boromir pondered these words, as he countered. “There was a man there, reading.”  
“A Man?” Narilvrin’s hand darted to the board; she quickly shifted another cup and smugly removed a knife.

Boromir slid another fork closer to her. “The first I’ve seen since I arrived.”  
Now engrossed in the competition the Elven maid gave no response.  
Boromir continued. “He was dark-haired and blue-eyed like a man of Gondor but his raiment showed no device or insignia. He seemed well at ease here. I thought you might know his country and his name. Since everyone seems to know everything that goes on in this house,” he added, under his breath.  
Then she looked up. “Did he not tell you himself?” Holding his gaze she surrounded one of his pieces and removed it from the parchment board.  
“Only that he was friend to Gandalf the Grey.” Boromir chose a spoon and advanced again.  
Narilvrin countered with a saucer and removed another of Boromir’s pieces. She took a deep breath before answering – “Indeed he is. They have traveled many leagues together and over many years. Here in Imladris he is known as Estel, and Elessar, for he is an Elf-friend of long standing and often his way leads him here. Though he is known by many names I am told that in the North he goes by “Strider,” and it is from the North he comes most often. But Country he has none. He is a Ranger.”  
“A Ranger!” Boromir exclaimed in surprise. “Even in the South we know of them: the strange wanderers of the Northern Wildes.” Then he moved again, eliminating a piece of crockery. Now there were only a few pieces left to each of them.  
“ ‘Not all those who wander are lost’ it is often said in Imladris of late,” Narilvrin replied with a secretive smile, studying the board. “Indeed, he is strange! but he is also trustworthy. I am sorry he was not more open to you. There is much you might learn from one another.” Suddenly a grin broke brightly on her face. “Ah! now I see it!” Like a striking bird her hand darted forward and removed another utensil leaving Boromir with only one. She had won the game.  
Boromir frowned in surprise, and then laughed good-naturedly, the subject of his strange encounter momentarily forgotten. A true leader, he was pleased his pupil had so quickly surpassed him. He held out his hand to congratulate the victor, and was momentarily surprised at its warmth and softness inside his so large and rough. It was the second time he had touched her.  
*****************  
As they returned to Boromir’s quarters that evening he was surprised to find a young Elf standing stock still and straight beside his door. Before he could assume any meaning to the Elf’s presence, Narilvrin hailed him.  
“Greetings, Quentir. What do you here?”

The young elf pivoted and bowed deep from the waist. ”I await the Lord Boromir.” He bowed more deeply to the Lord of Gondor. “His presence is requested by Lord Elrond at a feast this evening in the Great Hall and to sit at the Master’s Table.”  
His courtier manners came back to Boromir like a familiar cloak. “I thank you, Quentir. Please tell Master Elrond I will attend.”  
Quentir bowed again and, his duty discharged, smiled at Narilvrin before hurrying away down the corridor.  
Now the Elf Maid turned to the Man. “At last. The summons you have waited for has come.”  
But the soldier would make no such assumption. “It is an invitation to feast, Narilvrin, not to consultation. Still, it is nice to be remembered,” he added wryly, returning her ever-present smile. “Will you also attend? I will look for you.”  
“You may indeed look for me and find me amongst them, but usually I rather reside in my small part of the valley!” Narilvrin laughed gently. “Still, I must eat and I am always happy in your company. Mayhap we will meet.” She held his gaze then for a long moment, her emerald gold flecked eyes glinting even in the fading light. When she spoke, again it was without mirth or mockery, her eyes remaining on his. “But I doubt we shall see each other for some time.”  
She bowed her head for the space of a breath and then departed, leaving Boromir to wonder at her words.


	5. Lasselanta Mittacanta, Autumn Equinox Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Warning: Adult themes

As Narilvrin had predicted, Boromir did not set eyes on her again for some time. For on the day following the feast he was called to Council with Elrond, as were many fair folk and strange. And while he was gratified at last to learn the meaning of the riddle that had brought him to Rivendell, he found his purpose subsumed in that of the quest and it disturbed the Captain of Gondor to be just one more player challenged by their common Enemy to a game none could foresee an end to. More troubling, the presence of The Ring wore on him.  
The next days were spent largely in the company of his eight new companions as they prepared for the journey South – studying maps, gathering provisions, they even began taking their meals together. He, himself, took charge of their weaponry and spent a final afternoon in the presence of Young Angmir as the swordsmith put a new edge on his blade, the Dwarf’s axe and the swords of the Halflings. Though it pleased him to be occupied and engaged in an endeavor of import, Boromir missed the idle hours he had spent with Narilvrin waiting for such a time to come.  
As Boromir climbed back to Elrond’s House that last afternoon, it all appeared so different to him. Now, even the magic of the Elves could no longer delay the winter and signs of its coming were everywhere. Still, Boromir found the land beautiful to his eye and his thoughts wandered again to the familiar Elven Maid who had made such a vision possible.  
In recent days, he had thought of Narilvrin often, wishing for someone with whom he might discuss the many new things he had encountered, or someone with whom he might be silent for a time. At first, feeling thwarted at the Council of Elrond his ever-ready anger had turned on her: she had kept him isolated and sequestered – he had not seen the representatives of other races arriving, he had not been prepared for their presence in Rivendell. Then it came to him that if it had been some kind of trap, it was one he would willingly walk into again.  
On the evening before their departure he dined with the other members of the Fellowship and then took his leave intending to spend a last night in comfort and alone. As was his habit on the eve of a mission the Soldier of Gondor expected to lie wakeful in his bed rehearsing variables and eventualities in an effort to be prepared for any outcome.  
However, on this night Boromir made an exception.  
For in his quarters when he arrived was Narilvrin, awaiting him. She stood at the railing by the little balcony table so transformed from her everyday appearance that the sight halted Boromir at his door.  
The moonlight and starlight shone blue and silver on her hair as it cascaded down her back bound by pins and shining ornaments. Instead of her usual formless tunic, she wore a long slender dress of deepest midnight blue, and when she turned Boromir could see the low neck was adorned with seven shimmering stars. As his gaze flowed down her form, it seemed to him that the stars, too, fell and merged into a pattern of white leaves adorning her skirts.  
He stepped noiselessly forward and came to meet her, raising a hand lightly to one open sleeve.  
“The symbols of my city.”  
Narilvrin nodded, her eyes like bright golden flecked emeralds. “I wear them to honor you, Boromir son of Denethor, on our last night of peace together.”  
The Elf Maid gestured to the table and there Boromir saw she had placed a tall ewer and two goblets.  
“This is Míruvórë, our Wine of Farewell,” she explained, handing him a cup. The sparkling draught looked as light and clear as water to Boromir’s eyes but a fragrance soft as summer emanated from it. Narilvrin teasingly echoed his warning from days before: “Be warned, it is deceptively simple in appearance!”  
Then she raised her cup into the moonlight falling between them.  
“I come to say ‘Namárië’, Man of the South. Farewell; always in memory will I treasure the short time of peace we have had together.”  
Boromir bowed his head, but found no words as they drank together. The Míruvórë sparkled over his tongue like the finest mead, like starlight itself distilled. He drained the cup and replaced it on the table.  
Then boldly he stepped forward. “Narilvrin, I fear that when this quest is over and I see the White City again. But know our gates, our doors … my door, will always be open to you.”

Softly she turned away to face the night. “Alas, Boromir, I will try to make the Southward journey. My path leaves Imladris as well.”  
Boromir’s heart leapt inexplicably. Leave where?  
She turned back, then, and gazed deeply into his gray-green eyes, seeing he did not understand.  
“Yes, Boromir, I am going to go with you on this Journey of the Fellowship,” Narilvrin said, tracing a long finger over his face, “For there will be many ordeals for everyone, and I would be there to comfort them, especially of you…the time of the Elves is over. Soon they will take the Great East Road through the lands of the Periannath to the Gray Havens. And so to their ships and on to Valinor, their true home. They can do little more here and power is waning. However, I, for one, will not be leaving yet. I fear my heart will be heavy on that last journey for Middle Earth is dear to me and fair, though there is much of it I have not seen.  
“I would like to see your city, Boromir, Steward’s Son of Gondor.” So saying Narilvrin turned again to the night and gazed out over the valley as if her Elven eyes could see that far. “I hear that in the Tower of Guard you have built your homes from the shoulders of mighty Mount Mindolluin itself, even as we have fashioned ours from the trees and rivers here in Imladris, and that the morning sun reflected on the White Tower of Ecthelion surpasses in beauty even an Elf’s ability to tell of it.”  
Moved by her words Boromir stepped behind her and impulsively framed her tapering waist. “That is so.”  
Turning suddenly in the circle of his hands Narilvrin gazed up into his proud face and spoke low: “I would like to see it, to see it through your eyes;” her soft hand passed across his brow; “to wander the streets and halls of Minas Tirith;” the other came to match its mate and frame his strong face; “at your side.”  
Then as she lifted her face to his Boromir saw her lips part and in them read invitation. He bent and met her rising, covered her mouth with his own.  
Her lips were like the finest silk, though her kiss was firm with purpose before it melded against his. Boromir drank her in as he had the wine, quickly accepting the gift being given. In the back of his mind the soldier couldn’t help but consider that he was kissing an Elf – someone not of his race – but the Man’s lips, his hands, his body felt only her passion, her lithe form yielding to his and, when she opened her mouth to him, something indescribably rich and warm mingling with the Míruvórë.  
With that first taste their desire quickly escalated. Boromir’s hands roamed Narilvrin’s back and shoulders, her arms as they reached for him, her long neck, the fall of her waist – he refused to leave any part of her unknown. And when their passion made them breathless they simply held each other, her head tucked in under his chin, the soft gold of his beard mingling with her fire.  
Raising his head Boromir gazed down at the beauty before him. With one rough, square hand he brushed aside her hair now disarrayed from his caresses. Here Boromir found himself holding a lover truly capable of being his partner, whose experience at love far outdistanced his own indeed by lifetimes.  
“Lady …” he searched for words though an Elven hand stole up to hush him.  
“No,” Narilvrin murmured. “I am no lady tonight, and you no lord. We are but two creatures seeking joy in one another” she breathed; “great joy.”  
So saying she rose to join her kiss with his again even as Boromir surrounded her completely in his strong arms. Now there was nothing between them but cursed cloth and soon that, too, was gone.  
Relinquishing her exploration of the Man’s broad, long back Narilvrin’s clever hands rapidly undid the clasps of his heavy leather vest, pausing for long moments to caress his full chest, rounded shoulders, powerful arms as she pushed it off him to the floor. In rapid succession his embroidered crimson tunic and woven undershirt with its chain mail cuffs soon followed. Then she had him naked to the waist and open to her touch and gaze.  
Not of Elven kind he felt more solid to her hands, his muscles massed and ready beneath his skin, flesh hotter and thicker and covered with a coarse hair that showed gold and auburn. His smell was sharp in her nostrils, rich as leather and irresistible to her; she brushed her cheek, her face against and along his beard again and again, kissed and licked his corded neck, threaded her fingers over his chest to tangle in the hair of his stomach rippling under her touch.  
Then she grew more bold. Smiling enticingly, she circled his waist to hold him to her while pale fingers danced along the hem of his pants between them. Then she dropped that hand to swim over the telltale swell urging toward her through the worn leather. Even here he was more substantial, more corporeal than any Elven male. At the thought of being one with him Narilvrin clasped Boromir through the cloth and almost moaned at his sounds of pleasure. She glanced up to see find his head thrown back, hair falling over his shoulder, and green eyes watching her. Encouraged, she slipped her hand underneath the hem, pressed fully along his length, greater than her hand, and caressed him. Soon he was rocking himself into her flexing fingers, his own hands blindly stroking her back, her hair, pressing her body to him.

But in a moment more Boromir released her and gently pushed Narilvrin away. He shook his head, and began to move away from her.  
“O not yet, my lady; not yet.”  
Narilvrin grinned lightly even as Boromir moved back to the little table. Refilling both cups, he took a few calming breaths of the crisp night air. Then he raised his glass and drank.  
Across the floor Narilvrin’s keen Elven eyes took in every detail – the way he leaned coolly against the rail – one booted ankle crossed over the other – belying the heat she had felt in his flesh. Even under the silver moon, he was golden, light and shadow turning his honey hair to flaxen wheat and his beard to soft mystery. Moonlight bathed his broad shoulders, well-muscled arms and chest; from under shadow stout ribs seemed to embrace his abdomen and a trail of fair hair guided her eyes to the deep indentation of his navel and the softer flesh surrounding it not even a soldier’s life could erase.

“He is truly a prince among Men,” she thought. She longed to cross the floor to him, let her hands, her tongue, take again what now he gave only to her eyes. She took him in a moment, knowing his image would live in her forever.  
Boromir’s eyes, dark with desire, met hers again over the rim. Lowering it measurably, he gestured to her with his cup. “Now, shed your raiment for me, My Lady.”  
His voice, thick with passion, rumbled across the air to her like distant thunder and Narilvrin answered it with a lightening laugh. Then a tremor ran across her skin. All of a sudden, she felt like a little girl who, thinking she has befriended a lost kitten, discovers she has brought a hungry lion home to play. She smiled in acceptance of the delicious challenge she had brought herself and slowly, unhurriedly, turned her back on him.  
In the dark of the room, Narilvrin almost disappeared to Boromir’s sight. Then one white hand, bright in the dimness, appeared around her waist and fluttered up under the flame-like fall of her hair. Almost holding his breath the sound of secret clasps unclasping came to Boromir’s expectant ears. Then that nimble hand reappeared, fingers weaving into the darkness of her dress and returning, to descend just to the level of her hip. At last, Narilvrin let her hand fall back to her side and, for what seemed an endless moment to the watching Boromir, nothing happened. Then, with a flutter and a sigh the great midnight gown melted into a pool at the Elf maid’s feet.  
Boromir’s breath stopped.  
Clothed now in only a thin veil of sparkling cloth the perfection of Narilvrin’s form was startlingly clear to Boromir. He stood mesmerized by her delicate feet naked and vulnerable against the bare floor that rose to her long slender calves before all else was hidden under the flamed fall of her fiery hair. In contrast, her pale skin shone in the darkness and appeared without mark or blemish. Narilvrin was unlike any mortal woman he had ever seen: the Elf was all slender verticality, all lithe length.

Toeing off his boots the Steward’s Son now quit his post by the balcony rail and entered into the dark of the room. He approached her from behind almost silently; feeling her start slightly as he gently gathered up her hair and draped it over one sloping shoulder.  
Keeping only scant inches between them, feeling her body yield almost imperceptibly to his, Boromir bent and tasted her skin. Over the taut tendons of Narilvrin’s neck, her shoulders, her spine went his lips, his tongue, while his hands made their presence known demandingly at her hips. Her skin was cool and tasted to Boromir like rain in August, promising relief to his own heated flesh. He continued to caress her with his mouth as he began to finger the gauzy material of her slip. Slowly, slowly, he gathered it up and, when he felt the hem slip into his palm, let it accompany him as he slid his hands over her belly, over her ribs, her breasts and the length of her arms raised to the sky for him. In a moment, the flimsy article of clothing had joined her gown on the floor. Only then did he pull her back against him and, as she molded her body to his, bend and take her in his arms. Boromir carried Narilvrin over to his bed and gently laid her body upon it, and later joined her, himself as naked as she. He pressed himself against her, causing her moan in a way pleasing to his ears. Boromir bent his head and kissed her fully, his tongue slipping into her mouth. He then brings his head upward and starts to caress her elvish ears, planting hot steamy kisses and nibbled the pointed part. Narilvrin arched against him, feeling his erection dig into her most sensitive spot.

But just as Boromir was raising one ivory thigh with his knee a thought occurred to him. He lifted his head from Narilvrin’s breast and settled himself over her.  
“Tell me, Narilvrin, is this permitted? Elves cavorting with Men?” He smiled teasingly but his eyes showed concern.  
“Hmmm …” Narilvrin seemed to consider her lover’s question, and then with a broad smile raised her thigh up over his hip to bring them into intimate contact. “Cavorting. Is that what you call it?” She rolled the word about in her mouth seductively. “Cavorting…”  
Stifling a moan Boromir caught her chin in one hand and caught her eyes in his. “Narilvrin … I simply meant – ”  
But her cascading laugh cut him off until he could do nothing but join her. Then their laughter rang together like wind in the trees, each giving voice to the other. But a shadow fell fleetingly across Narilvrin’s face. She reached up one long hand and caressed his beard, his brow, his hair and frowned slightly. “It is true two of our fairest maids could be said to have fallen under the spell of Mortal Man, to the sadness of many.”  
Now it was Boromir’s turn to cheer Narilvrin. He tenderly kissed her trailing fingers and, when she smiled again, asked smugly “Maids? None of your Elvish men have been beguiled by the whiles of mortal women? for I can tell you from experience, they are considerable …”  
Narilvrin shared his jest, answering “Well, none that I have heard tell of, but then I doubt our union, sweet though it will be,” she raised her head and kissed him lightly; “will find its way into recorded history.”  
“Oh, it will, Love, it will.” So saying Boromir bent his head and captured Narilvrin’s mouth again, He pressed his lips almost roughly against hers and then, at once, thrust his tongue between her lips and his erect cock between her legs, feeling her heated depths, and letting her feel the extent of his desire and the full weight of his intention. Narilvrin gasped into her lover’s mouth; during their play, he seemed to have grown impossibly fuller. Boromir waited for her to adjust, and as she arched up to feel his weight and warmth press down upon her, he took this a sign and began to dive in and out of her with timely thrust; a union was created in the blood in her virginity and the sweat of the two glistening bodies. Boromir’s warm rapid breath cascaded down Narilvrin’s chest as he kissed and caressed with his lips, his hands settling upon her hips. And so, they made love until the stars began to fade above them. Then they lay together, silver and gold forged together, murmuring quietly to one another, often laughing, or simply letting their hearts dance to the rhythm of the other’s body for a time.

When the light of day began to turn the leaves outside his room gray against a rosy sky Boromir rose silently to wash and dress. He retrieved his clothes and Narilvrin’s from where they had fallen and laid her dress atop the bed, and did not have the heart to wake her.  
When all was readiness and there was nothing more, he stood beside the bed and just watched her as she slept. One errant lock of hair had fallen across her eyes. Now it lifted and fell with each breath his Elven lover took and made the Warrior smile.  
Narilvrin was the first he had ever been with that had treated him like a man – not a man of privilege and power to be serviced and flattered, but a man of heart, sinew and spirit – a man to be partnered. And in their lovemaking she had given of herself freely, and given him a night the thought of which would keep any soldier warm in battle for a lifetime.  
At the same time Narilvrin had been like every other woman, he had ever been with, only more so. Her skin was so soft and pale yet firm and vibrant to his hand. Her spirit so reserved in all else but some mirth after the fashion of her kind, was set free by their desire for each other. And her body, so long, lean and cool had yielded to him generously and had drawn him into a slick grasping core stroked to a fervent flame. Closing his eyes, Boromir remembered how hers had widened as he entered her, and then closed again as she was almost undone by the feeling of him ensheathed in her completely. It had been her deep, elongated release had finally brought him his.  
He opened his eyes again as she stirred. Although he was no stranger to leaving for battle with a woman in his bed, Boromir knew he could not leave Narilvrin to wake to an empty room. Gently, he brushed the wayward lock back into place, and then traced the side of her sculpted face. Her emerald-golden flecked eyes fluttered and opened.  
But Boromir found there were no words. He bent, pressed his lips to hers for a long moment, and was about to leave, but Narilvrin sat up and stayed him. After getting dressed, they walked down into the main valley towards the Fellowship awaiting them, and they were gone, a silver feathered eagle following them in the high airs of Arda.


	6. Of Elven Boats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

The Fellowship departed Lothlórien with renewed hope for their journey. The wise words of Galadriel had been of some comfort to all, although comfort was scarce in times as such. Yet not all things she had said were good. Some things said were quite the opposite; ominous and foreboding. Holding a hand up slowly, she signified her goodbye. As the sight of the fair Elf-maiden faded in the distance her voice, although deeper than often is the wont of most females' voices, she sang a quiet lament...  
"Ai! Laurië lantar lassi súrinen,  
Yéni ú-nót-imë ve rámar aldaron!  
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier  
mi oro-mardi lisse-miruvóre-va  
Andúnë pella Vardo tellumar  
nu luini yassen tintilar I eleni  
óma-ryo aire-tári-lírinrn.  
Sí man I yulma nim en-quant-uva?"  
And on and on she sang, until at last she came upon the last verses...Si vanwa ná Rómello vanwa, Valimar! Namárië! Nai hir-uva-lyë Valimar. Nai elyë hir-uva. Namárië!" And soon she could be seen no more, and even the last of her song was hardly audible, if now heard by anyone but Legolas and Narilvrin.  
And still the burden of the One Ring weighed heavy upon Frodo's shoulders, and he could not help but cling still to slight despair. The Light of Eärendil lifted his spirits, if only a little, and pushed him onwards. He rubbed his hands over the smooth surface of the crystal phial, thinking quietly to himself of how he still missed Gandalf, although the marvels of the Mellyrn trees had done some to sooth his sorrow. If he were here...I needn't despair so. His guidance has always kept me from wandering astray...but how far shall I wander now in his absence?  
All who had come to know Gandalf through this journey grieved his fall in Moria. An eerie silence loomed over the remaining eight members of the Fellowship. Thankfully, she seemed in higher spirits by the day of their departure, as did most. All had taken humor in Sam's wholehearted attempt at his own lament, since it brought more laughter than requiem.  
The finest rockets ever seen:  
they burst in stars of blue and green,  
or after thunder golden showers  
came falling like a rain of flowers.  
Sam's voice had faltered, and his face had turned a distinct shade of red after which Aragorn had scolded Merry and Pippin for their snickering.  
The Elven boats now glided gracefully through the waters of the Anduin, the oars sifting through the rushing water as ones fingers sift through sand. It was true, many changes had taken place in the Golden realm of Lothlórien. Legolas and Narilvrin the Elves, once showing mostly abhorrence and dislike towards the Dwarf in their company, now paid him friendlier heed. The three shared a boat, and conversed, although Legolas seldom conversed to anyone save Aragorn, Gandalf, or Narilvrin for he was a very quiet Elf, as if they had known each other many years. It was indeed a marveling change. None of the Fellowship could figure out just how this had come to be, but it had come to be nonetheless. Narilvrin sighed her farewells to the Golden Wood. Namarië...  
Their thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the startling rocking of the boat they currently occupied. The Dwarf seated in front of them was trying to find a more comfortable sitting position and had decided it would be easier, although likely not right smart, to do so by standing up first.  
"Do sit still, Gimli." Narilvrin said calmly. To this Gimli whirled his head around to face Legolas, further disrupting the calmness of the waters surrounding the boat.  
"I'll have no pointy-ear ordering me around!" He replied, more jestingly than anything else. Narilvrin heaved and sighed as the boat continued to totter back and forth dangerously, looking pleadingly at Legolas who shared the same expression. Pippin giggled as Boromir rowed past the spectacle along with Merry, who sat in the bow of the boat. The others could not help but smile, and for a time all were at ease, with the exception of maybe the Elves who was growing increasingly frustrated with the situation. Nothing good can come of this...they thought to themselves, and was all too right.  
As the uneasy Dwarf began to take his seat once more, his axe was unfortunate enough to be disrupted from its resting place and threatened to dive into the waters. In a desperate attempt to save his precious weaponry, Gimli lurched forward. Grasping his axe from midair, the boat began to tremble terribly. To everyone's surprise, a very distressed Legolas was able to stay the boat while Narilvrin manage to prevent the Dwarf from plunging into the Anduin.  
The entire Fellowship began to roar with laughter at Narilvrin's frantic display. Indeed it had been an amusing scene to witness. Narilvrin had seen the error in Gimli's ways just in time to grab hold of the Dwarf's short shirt of chain mail, thus causing the Elf maiden to fall forward slightly, stopping herself with a hand on boats floor. The next problem had arisen because, in her haste to seize Gimli, Legolas had inadvertently let loose his hold on the oar while trying to help Narilvrin heave Gimli back up, which he had then been forced to hook with a foot. Pressing down on the oar, he had steered to keep enough pressure between it and the edge of the boat to prevent it from falling. Narilvrin could feel his face redden, if it is at all possible for an Elf's face to do so. Gimli, although still unsteady in his standing position on the still rocking boat, was booming with laughter as well. Narilvrin managed a small smile, willing to humor the others, although somewhat nettled.  
"Do try not to make the boat quiver so! Please, sit down and such incidents may be prevented from here on. I doubt that Dwarves are very well balanced and I am now lead to believe that they are prone to fall out of boats quite easily. I have no desire to swim in these cold waters..." Narilvrin said fairly calmly.  
"I have fine balance." Came the Dwarves gruff response. In order to prove himself further, he stood at the very front of the boat and slowly lifted one leg.  
With that, Aragorn glided up aside the quivering boat and patted Legolas on the back. Legolas was is no position to be patted on the back and began to slip forward losing his grip on Narilvrin...  
"Good show." Not since Gimli now stood on one leg alone, Aragorn next proceeded to pat Gimli on the back as well.  
Alas, the uneasy stricken Dwarf was in no way prepared for this, and so tumbled forward towards the water. Because of Legolas' and Narilvrin’s grip on Gimli and already stressed position, they fell forward to lay nearly flat on the floor of the boat. Gimli, frantically flailing his arms as he went, took his last step before entering the water directly upon the absolute worst place. The side of the already unsteady boat. And so it was, to the Elves’ horror, that the boat tipped, plunging both Dwarf and two Elves into the Anduin.

The Elves had been quick enough to snatch their weapons and hold them just above the icy water. Luckily for the three, the Fellowship had been nearing the bank, and even more luckily, had not yet been near to the falls of Rauros, and thus the current was weak and the water shallow. It would have been an unfortunate event indeed to lose three more companions so early after losing the first.  
Legolas emerged from the water, his golden hair soaked and dripping, and his features far from pleased. Narilvrin came up after him, her very long flame red hair dripping and plastered against her wet clothes, with her face very far worse from what Legolas portrayed. The water was just shallow enough for the tall elves to keep their heads above water by standing on their toes. But Gimli was not faring so well, he kicked his legs wildly and flailed his arms more so just to stay afloat. He soon grabbed the overturned boat, still grasping the handle of his axe.  
“Wonderful balance, Gimli.” Legolas said sarcastically, now more than just a little bit perturbed.  
Yeah, you really know how to balance yourself.” Narilvrin also said.  
“Oh be quiet.” Gimli growled.  
"Are you both alright?" Asked Frodo worriedly. He received glares from Legolas, Gimli, and Narilvrin and visibly shrank. Had the Fellowship's previous laughs been thought of as roars, these were booms. Boromir and Aragorn struggled to stay the boats in the slowly moving current while battling with their uncontrollable laughter. Merry and Pippin were doubled over and clutching their stomachs. Frodo, who had now recovered from the glares, was coming close to tears from the hilarity and Sam, as much as he tried to cover it up, could not help but join in.  
Narilvrin sulkily swam towards Aragorn's but did not leave the water herself. She sighed and headed towards the overturned boat. Aragorn will never let me live this down...  
"Elves falling out of a boat, that's an eye opener and no mistake." Said Sam quietly.  
"I did not 'fall' out of a boat.' Replied Narilvrin, her hearing more than keen enough to hear Sam's remark.  
"Oh, but you most certainly did, mellon nin." Replied Aragorn between laughs. Narilvrin gave him a fierce glare.  
"Had it not been for the stiff necks of Dwarves and your own stupidity, Aragorn, this would not have happened." Said Legolas, struggling to help Narilvrin flip over the boat and keep Gimli from sinking in the process. None wished to drift further down the great river.  
"This is true." Said Boromir from his boat, controlling his laughter. Aragorn smiled sheepishly.  
"Aw, I suppose it is. But Legolas, if only you could have seen the look upon your face. Never before have I seen such a hilarious expression, especially from one so calm as you!!" Aragorn said jokingly from the relative safety of his own boat.  
"I would not say such things if I were you, mellon nin." Replied Legolas heatedly.  
"And why is that?"  
"Because-" Legolas began as he finally managed to flip the boat over, and pushed Gimli in. "I have a very large supply of water and a certain man more than deserving of a good bath. A non med." Legolas swam quite close to Aragorn and cupped the cold water in his hands.  
"What do....!?" Aragorn was cut off entirely by a portion of that huge supply of water splashing him directly across the face. "LEGOLAS!" Aragorn spluttered. "Si non med!!!"  
"Aragorn, m?nyes na le a tíro Pheriannath, an ar hain si nef hi nen nuva le. A med."  
"O, a med?" Aragorn said, suddenly starting to laugh again.  
"What did he say?" Sam nudged Frodo and asked in a hushed voice. Frodo had caught a scarce few words of what had been said.  
"Um...something about water." Frodo replied, a bit unsure of himself. Legolas had spoken too quickly and too quietly for much of what he had said to be understood, at least for Frodo.  
"I said that I am wet and that it is good that Aragorn is watching over Halflings, for without them he would be here on this side of the water. And wet." Legolas said smugly. With that, he splashed Aragorn a good few times before grabbing the edge of the drifting boat and pulling it towards the bank, Gimli and Narilvrin included. Aragorn sighed, wiping his face dry, then signified for Boromir to bank his boat as well.  
The bedraggled Elf trudged out of the water, his entire attire soaked and dripping. Heaving a long sigh, he began to ring the water from his hair and removed his cloak, for it had become increasingly heavy. Narilvrin followed as well, gently ringing the water from her clothes and plastered hair, removing any heavy water-filled attire from her, which only left the elleth in leggings and a silken shirt that were both damp. Gimli followed in accord, although considerably less gracefully.  
The Fellowship made camp beneath the protection of the green boughs of the trees. There was a small rock overhang to fend of the elements. A small fire had been made and the Hobbits had occupied themselves with preparing something to eat. Whenever anyone would dare to look at Legolas, Narilvrin or Gimli, everyone would burst into laughs, even more so when a dead fish had been discovered in Gimli's overturned helmet. Even the Elves could not help but smile, and they were willing to humor them once more. Two drenched Elves are indeed a very humorous scene to behold in any case. Legolas had managed to dry the majority of his golden hair, but his clothes were still dripping wet. Besides that, his boots were filled with water and he desperately hoped that there were not any fish in them, like in the Dwarf's case. Narilvrin sighed as she still tried to empty her hair of water.  
"That's the last time I ride in a boat with a Dwarf." Narilvrin said, grinning jeeringly. The Dwarf scoffed and began mumbling gruffly to himself.  
"You are one to talk..." Aragorn said, walking past Narilvrin with two buckets of water. "For an Elf maiden who fell out of a boat..." And with that he emptied the water contained within the bucket over the stunned and already soaking Elf. Giving her a small pat on the back....he dashed away to follow the others as quick as he could. No one wants to suffer the wrath of an angry Elf…especially an Elf maid.  
"ARAGORN!!" Yelled Narilvrin as she sprinted after the man.  
And so for a time the Fellowship forgot their worries...at the expense of a certain Elf.  
Cela sui sûl, Aragorn!!!!

Translations:  
'm?nyes na le a tíro Pheriannath, an ar hain si nef hi nen nuva le. A med' : to 'Good it is to thee to watch over Halflings, for without them, here on this side of water will be thou. And wet.'  
The long elvish lament that Galadriel sings as they leave Lórien is from The Fellowship of the Ring, the translation is on page 424 of FotR, and Sam's lament is taken from the book.  
'mellon nin' means 'my friend.'  
'O, a med?' means 'oh, and wet?' 'A non med' means 'and I am wet.' 'Si non med,' means 'now I am wet.'  
'Cela sui sûl,' : 'go away like the wind.'


	7. Of Pondering and Jesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Chapter 7- Of pondering and jesting

Narilvrin sighed as she leaned against the outcropping branch, pondering the day’s events from the boughs of a tree. Leaving Lothlorien had been a sad instance, but an inevitable one as well. The Fellowship had been bound to leave, and it was imperative that they do so for their cause was certainly eminent. Narilvrin knew very well that any Orcs that had followed their trail since Moria had been killed off by the skillful archers of the Golden Wood....but there was a danger growing in the Elf’s mind that urged her to continue with all speed. She knew not what it was, but only that it would be best not to cross its path.  
Narilvrin grinned as she remembered the lighthearted events that had come to pass. Taking a swim in the icy Anduin had not been what one would call pleasing or planned for that matter, but, as Narilvrin had resolved, if it lifted some of the ever encroaching somberness from the shoulders of her companions, she would not mind it happening again, although possibly under different circumstances. Gimli, whatever prompted you to stand whilst in the middle of a river, I shall never know...She thought to herself. And Aragorn, if ever you pull a stunt like that again, I shall have no more resolve than to shoot you with my bow. Although still nettled by receiving a cold bucket of water over the head from the Ranger after only just leaving the river, she was able to show a smile.  
Aragorn certainly had not gotten off easy for his antic. Narilvrin had chased him all around the campsite before receding only because of the incessant pleads from the Hobbits. Aragorn knew as well as the other companions did that it was not out of spite or anger that Narilvrin had done this. It was to further heighten the spirits of her comrades. There would be much despair to come, but when those around you are happy, why not let them be?  
Narilvrin too knew that Aragorn had been thinking the same as he, and likewise knew the Elf was forgiving enough to allow such a frivolity, if only once. Gimli, although more stubborn than any Narilvrin had come across in all his years, was also quick to forgive, once he had seen the genuine smiles and laughs that had followed. Although he would not admit to bringing it upon himself, what with standing on one foot. Legolas and Narilvrin chuckled once more, as they remembered the Dwarf’s face as he had fallen from the boat and even at his own reaction to taking the unexpected bath. They were not so prideful that they could not jest at themselves on occasion.  
She gazed at the seven faces around the fire that flickered in and out of darkness. All slept soundly, and all should save Legolas who watched on the other side of the camp. Narilvrin, being an Elf and receiving much less of the tiring effects from the journey thus far, had opted to take the first watch and there had been little argument. From the supportive branches of the tree, Narilvrin gazed all throughout the surrounding wood, scanning for a threat. Although she would have much rather mulled the carefree events of that day, she was forced once more to ponder what this growing terror was. Long ago Narilvrin had been told by Legolas that the creature Gollum followed close on their heels, which had brought about a constant sorrow, for that creature had escaped the close watch of Mirkwood. What has happened, has happened. Nought can be done to change things, and I know Mithrandir thought that creature had some part yet to play...I have faith in that. But the skulking creature was not what worried the Elf now. This was a new evil. Something suddenly hit the elleth across the shoulder. An acorn? Thought Narilvrin, slightly bemused. She looked down through the leaves to see a mildly impatient Ranger stamping his foot in waiting.  
“I wondered how long it would take for you to notice me! This is unlike you, mellon nin.” Aragorn shouted kindly up at the Elf. Indeed, I did not notice his presence....I must not let myself slip so deep into thought again, at least not when I am to be on watch....  
“I am sorry, I was merely thinking.” Replied Narilvrin grinning as she began to steer down from the tree.  
“What about? You looked lost in thought.” Aragorn’s voice sounded somewhat concerned. Narilvrin leapt down from the last branch about ten feet in the air. With barely a sound she landed on the firm ground.  
“There is a danger growing in my mind. I believe something approaches, but I know not what.” She said striding back towards the campfire. Aragorn frowned slightly and followed. “You should rest once more, Aragorn.”  
“I have had enough rest.” Said the man, stubbornly.  
“The sun will rise soon, and you will not have such opportunities to regain your strength often in the near future.” Aragorn shrugged his shoulders.  
“I will be fine. How about you? You’ve been up all night, I am sure. Elf or not, we can not have the eyes and ears of the Fellowship failing us, can we?” Was Aragorn’s jesting response. The Elf took a seat against an overhanging a rock a short distance from the campfire.  
“You are too stubborn a man for your own good. You may take your watch, but know that it is in vain that you spend your time. By the way, you look a right mess...it would be beneficial for you to take a bath.” Aragorn smiled at the remark.  
“Make sure you rest.”  
“I will be ready for battle at the snap of a twig. Do not stray far, mellon nin.” Said the Elf, knowing all too well that the man would not relent in her insisting. The Elf feigned a light slumber, leaning her head forward to shadow her eyes. Chuckling quietly, the ranger left to scout the area, knowing all too well that the Elf’s keen eyes had already done a fine job of this.  
“Yes, yes, of course...” He mumbled as his form blended with the darkness, Legolas staying behind to watch over the others. The man’s footsteps, although quieter than the wont of most mortals, was still incredibly loud for the Elf, and she could hear Aragorn’s every stride upon the dry leaves.  
The sun rose not long afterwards, as Narilvrin had predicted. Aragorn had returned, finding no trace of an imminent threat, and had taken a seat on a nearby log. He had brought with him two rabbits for Sam to cook up.  
“That will hardly be enough to content the stomachs of those Hobbits. I am sure Pippin could down those on his own. Though half the size of a man, they eat three times as much.” Narilvrin said, jeeringly. Aragorn had been mildly startled by Narilvrin’s sudden words, obviously thinking she had been asleep, or at least unaware of his recent return to the campsite.  
“Well, they will have to make do, won’t they?” Aragorn said, grinning back and scratching the stubble on his chin. Narilvrin nodded, chortling quietly.  
One by one, the other seven companions awoke. Boromir woke first and had proceeded to build up the fire once more. Gimli grumbled as he stood up, located his axe and, though still half asleep, began to polish the blade. Frodo was next, followed closely by Sam, who, upon seeing the fresh game, rubbed the slumber from his eyes and dug out his pots and pans to begin preparing the two rabbits. Merry and Pippin woke at the exact same moment, awareness brought on by the luring smells of cooking food. Pippin rubbed his eyes drowsily and licked his lips.  
“Mmm.”  
“Yes, Aragorn caught us a couple of nice conies to eat. But you’ll have to wait till they’re done. I should like to stew them first.” Said Samwise, pouring water into a pot from a container.  
“Well you’d better be done soon...” Pippin mumbled as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, sulkily. Merry laughed but nodded in definite agreement. Frodo gave a little smile, but frowned upon turning to Narilvrin, who seemed lost in thought.  
“Narilvrin?” The Elf blinked her eyes and shook herself out of the momentary daze.  
“I am sorry, Frodo. What can I help you with?” The Halfling shook his head.  
“Oh, nothing. You just looked like there was something troubling you, that’s all.” Narilvrin shook her head, not wanting to concern the Hobbit. She had informed Aragorn of what she had been sensing, there was no need to burden the Ringbearer further.  
“I was plotting my revenge for Aragorn...” Said the Elf, smiling broadly. Frodo laughed, his blue eyes happy as he recalled the image of the soaking Elf.  
“As was I, I should desire to play a part in this ‘revenge’.” Legolas agreed, nodding to Narilvrin.  
“I should hope I shall take part in this ‘revenge taking’ too,” grumbled the Dwarf from nearby. “He’s more than deserving of a good swing of my axe.” Aragorn grinned shamefacedly at this.  
“Come now, my friends, you can’t still be sore about that, can you?” He replied hopefully. Legolas, Gimli, and Narilvrin gave him a glare, although the ranger had already been forgiven. Legolas, Narilvrin and Gimli huddled together thinking of their ‘revenge’.  
“I say we put a nice dead fish in his boots in penance for the one found in your helmet...” Legolas whispered, though purposefully loud enough for Aragorn to hear. Merry and Pippin sniggered.  
“Let Merry and I help you, we’ll think of the best trick to pull on Strider!” Pippin begged happily.  
“Pip and I were quite the pranksters back home.” Merry added.  
“Why once we even...” Pippin began.  
“You put a dead rat in my breadbox!” Interrupted Frodo. At that Merry and Pippin began to laugh near hysterics.  
“You should have seen your face when that smelly old thing rolled onto your feet!” Pippin said gleefully as he tried to do an impression of the disgusted look Frodo had on that day. Boromir smiled when Pippin received one of the packs straight in the face.  
“Aw, Frodo, don’t be too hung up on it...it was much worse when we got you to guzzle down a beer with that disgusting bug floating around in it.” Merry said, tittering slightly.  
“I remember that...he spat most of it out right in my face.” Said Sam as he further prepared the breakfasts. Frodo scooted over towards where Legolas, Gimli and Narilvrin sat.  
“I say we play a little prank on them while we are in the business of getting revenge.” He whispered quietly. Gimli grinned, and gave a chortle. “I’d wager we can get Sam in on this too.” Sam nodded over his shoulder.  
“More than happy too, Mister Frodo.”  
“Ho ho. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.” Agreed Gimli.  
“Three, rather.” Added Legolas blithesomely.  
Merry and Pippin raised a questioning eyebrow as to why the others were conspiring without them but before either could say speak up, Sam sighed loudly, looking disappointedly at the fire and turned then to Boromir.  
“Mister Boromir, would you mind getting some more firewood for us? Only if it wouldn’t be too much trouble a course.” Sam said, somewhat hopeful.  
“Of course.” Replied Boromir. As he was about to stand, Aragorn suddenly broke in.  
“You needn’t get up, Boromir, I will take care of it. With all this talk of revenge against me, I’m more than willing to occupy myself elsewhere.” Said the Ranger, grinning as he walked into the woods. Once the man was clearly out of sight, Boromir, taking heed that Merry and Pippin did not notice, leaned towards Frodo.  
“I wouldn’t mind getting back at those two myself.” He said, nodding his head towards the two laughing Hobbits. “They tackled me a good few times back on Caradhras and I’ve been meaning to get them back.” Gimli smiled.  
“This will be a grand old romp, indeed. Why, the Dwarves have always been known for their good pranks...” began the Dwarf in his low voice. Narilvrin had heard stories of what ‘the Dwarves have been known for’ many times over and felt certain that this tale would be little different from the rest. Instead, she tried to focus on the footsteps of the Ranger as he searched for good firewood while still convincing the Dwarf that she was deeply interested in the tale. Narilvrin did not want anyone to stray far from the company alone...the foreboding feeling she had was growing stronger with the passing second. She also had a sinking suspicion that Aragorn had taken it upon himself to find the source of the Elf’s ominous air Narilvrin had sensed.  
Everyone was talking happily now, and she did not want to disturb this, although she would not mind missing the dramatic end to the Dwarf’s narrative. So, saying that Aragorn was taking far too long to find mere firewood, she excused herself from the conversation and headed off into the woods, singing softly to herself to mask her concern.  
“Galadhad lina dim bethath le  
Hin galadhad peda i eryn nalla gelydh  
Sí man lastuva? Sí man lastuva?  
Imuva nallon! Pedo a im.”

Translations:  
“The trees sing sad words to thee  
These trees say the forests cry wisdom  
Now who will listen? Now who will listen?  
I will, I cry! Speak to me.”


	8. Of the Argonath and an Ominous threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Warning: has Adult themes

The brilliant rays of sun were reaching through the green boughs above, extending their grasp to the forest floor below. Not so much as a leaf crinkled beneath the light footed movements of the elleth. Narilvrin spread her fingers through the warm sunbeams as she tracked the Ranger’s movements. Although her main concern was that the man did not stray far from the rest of the company, she still had an urge to give Aragorn his do revenge. The Elf had been able to see the Ranger for some time now and plotted her footsteps carefully. From above I will be given a better vantage...Thought the Elf as she leapt nimbly into a low spread branch and moved rapidly to the upper boughs.  
Aragorn searched uninterestedly through the dry wood that lie around his feet, knowing that he need not search any longer for firewood. There was another reason that stayed his trek back to the others. The words of his companion weighed heavy on his mind. He trusted in the Elf’s keen instincts and knew what had been spoken was verity for he too had a strange feeling about him, though not nearly as perceptive a one as any Elf. He set about scouting the area once more, walking hither and thither around what small expanse of the woods his feet could carry him.  
Through many branches did the Elf bound past before pausing above his target. Aragorn, as Narilvrin had reckoned, had little intention of searching for the proposed firewood. Narilvrin felt glad now that she had chosen not to inform the others and nearly regretted telling the Ranger of the impending evil she felt. It was indeed more than a bit worrying to the Elf, for the air had been growing steadily fouler with the passing time. Very little had been seen of the creature Gollum in these times, as well, which lead Narilvrin to believe that she was not the only one who sensed the approaching terrors. No doubt, Gollum had hidden or fled as not to be caught up in anything dangerous. It was true that the One Ring had done much to the creature, but he still feared for his life.  
A sudden breeze brought a new scent to the Elf, one she wished not smell again. It came from the depths of Isengard, a most impure and fetid place of late. What has Saruman the Betrayer conjured to set upon us now, for I am sure it must be he? What putrid weapon shall he wish to unleash upon our Fellowship...and without the guidance of Mithrandir? She sighed into the defiled breeze. At least I know now who is again conspiring against us...  
Feeling that the Ranger had no reason to linger here any longer, and not wishing to ponder the sources of the putrid air further, the Elf plucked a remaining acorn from a branch of the tree she stood in at present and tossed it lightly towards his target. It struck the man softly across the shoulder. Aragorn spun around. With a look of slight confusion, he scanned the area around him for signs of an attacker. Finding no threat, he narrowed his eyes, glancing around him suspiciously. Something brushed past the side of his arm.  
“Who is out there?” Asked Aragorn, firmly. “Show yourself.”  
A familiar musical laughter rang through the trees as another acorn connected with the top of the man’s head. Aragorn closed his eyes in concentration, an attempt to track the whimsical assailant. The Ranger was rewarded with an acorn straight in the nose.  
Aragorn’s reactions to the Elf’s mischief were indeed amusing. Narilvrin could not help but openly laugh and ceased attempts at suppressing her mirth. The Ranger deserved every acorn that came his way. Aragorn, by now, had realized that his attacker was no enemy and certainly no threat, but was still befuddled as to the exact source of the small projectiles.  
Feeling the mild delight at the Ranger’s expense begin to lessen, the Elf leapt down from the safety of the trees, landing no more than a foot behind Aragorn without so much as a sound. Narilvrin tapped her friend on the shoulder. Aragorn spun around, somewhat startled. Skilled Ranger though he was, he was no match for an Elf. With a smile, Aragorn began to head back to the camp. Scooping up the Ranger’s fallen pile of firewood, Narilvrin followed behind.  
“We are not yet even.” Said Narilvrin, with a grin. “Icy waters and acorns do not weigh out equally to me.”  
“I did not expect it to be so, nevertheless it is comforting to know that you, Legolas and Gimli have forgiven me.” Aragorn replied, rubbing the place upon his nose where the acorn had struck.  
“We would not have held it against you. Moreover, although the Dwarf denies it, he should have foreseen the founder, and I have been proven the right in having said a Dwarf’s sense of balance is certainly very minuscule.” Aragorn chuckled as they walked back, although not nearly so genuinely as was habitual. The growing sense of danger was plaguing both minds. Aragorn looked towards Narilvrin.  
“What news have you about this rankness upon the air?” Narilvrin frowned at the question.  
“I know that the creature Gollum has been scarce of late and....and that the source of this foreboding feeling resides within the dark tower of Orthanc. Whatever will be assailing us, is urged by the hand of Saruman.”  
“This is ill news.”  
“Indeed...but the others will ponder as to what has become of us, if we tarry longer.” Said the Elf, dashing ahead after disposing of the heap of firewood into the arms of Aragorn, who followed soon afterwards. She did not wish to discuss the topic further. Not now that she knew Aragorn would distress over it. When the threat grew more imminent, Narilvrin knew she would not be able to hesitate to inform her comrade. It was important, furthermore, for she did not want to endanger the others, or, more importantly, the Ringbearer.  
As the two approached the camp, they caught wind of an argument.  
“You have more...I am sure of it.”  
“He does not...so please, calm down.”  
“But...”  
“Pippin, please...!”  
“Fine, very well.”  
When Narilvrin and Aragorn emerged from the trees, the Hobbits had already started their meal. Pippin had insisted that Merry had gotten a larger share of the stewed rabbit and Merry insisted that he had not. And so, the others had gone about trying to persuade the determined Took otherwise. At long last he had given in and focused now on consuming his breakfast.  
“It’s a pity that we do not have second breakfasts. I see no reason not to.” Pippin said, a mouth half full of food.  
“Indeed it is, Pip. But I don’t think we have time for such.” Merry answered, sighing.  
“Your words are true, young Hobbit.” Said Boromir. “Time is sparse.”  
The Fellowship nodded their agreement. All knew it was an important task that had been appointed to them. All knew Middle-earth was dependent upon the outcome of this one journey. Frodo, who was burdened most of all, knew too, what would happen were he to fail. The visions shown to him by the lady Galadriel flashed all too vividly in his mind while he heard her wise words ring throughout. If only Gandalf were here, I would not dwell so on what I know is to come, sighed the Ringbearer.  
‘I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had ever happened.’  
‘So do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’  
Yes. I cannot change what I did not decide. I will go to Mount Doom...I shall destroy the One Ring....that is what I will do with the time given me. Whether it takes my life or not, this task was appointed to me and I will not fail. Frodo thought to himself. Oh Bilbo...how I longed to journey with you...away from the Shire...but now I long for nothing more than to know I will return. A light tap on his shoulder awoke him from his brooding.  
“Mister Frodo? Mister Frodo, sir?” Sam looked down at the bemused Hobbit with a look of concern.  
“Oh, what is it Sam?”  
“We’re leaving now, Mister Frodo. We’ll be journeying by boat again...although I think I’d rather use my own two feet. You can always trust your own feet, Mister Frodo, I always say.” Frodo smiled warmly at Sam’s uneasiness.  
“Yes, Sam.” Frodo gazed at the faces around him as he stood. “I think you are not the only one who is not looking forward to the boat ride. Legolas and Narilvrin seems a bit uncomfortable, and Gimli, no doubt, does as well.”  
“Well who wouldn’t, if you don’t mind me saying? And all three did manage to tip just the other day.” Sam shuddered somewhat at the thought of having to enter the boat and more so at the possibility of plunging into the swift waters, but was able to smile as he recalled just why the Dwarf and two Elves were so reluctant to continue in their boats. Legolas and Narilvrin walked up silently behind the two Hobbits, listening intently.  
“I would not say that I took part in tipping the boat. It was the fault of that Dwarf’s bullheadedness and the help of a certain Strider, as you call him, that urged the boat to dispose of its passengers into the Anduin.” Narilvrin said, picking up the bucket used to dowse the fire. Once at the bank, she filled it with water. Striding up besides Pippin, she whispered something in his ear and handed over the bucket. The young Hobbit smiled gleefully, whistling quietly, as he approached Aragorn, who was preoccupied with loading the boats.  
“Strider!” Pippin yelled suddenly. The Ranger turned around in alarm, wondering what could be the matter. There was a splash of water and a high pitched Hobbit laugh. “Haha, Strider, take that! It was a little gift from Narilvrin, but she so graciously allowed me to perform the honors.”  
“I was more than happy to, Peregrin.” Chimed Narilvrin, patting Pippin upon the shoulder. “Good show I believe are the words you used last time, mellon nin.”  
“Narilvrin...” Mumbled Aragorn as he glared in the Elf’s direction. Narilvrin grinned happily before proceeding to enter the boat.  
“Hoho, Narilvrin, using messengers now, are we?” Said Gimli as he cautiously followed the Elf into the boat. Narilvrin smiled broadly as she waited for the others to settle themselves into their boats.  
The Fellowship was soon on their way again. At midday the looming forms of the great stone kings could be seen far in the distance by the sharp eyes of Legolas and Narilvrin. The Argonath. They were still a ways off, but the Elves estimated that they would no doubt pass through them and land near Amon Hen by night fall.  
Their estimations held true, for though the sky was not yet dark, it had become tinted with the beautiful purples and pinks that the ending of day wrought. The beginnings of the sunset. The sunlight was yet warm and bright as it was fading, and the stone Kings stood tall and proud beneath it. A magnificent sign they had been of the greatness of Gondor...although they now signified a power lost. The west bank of the mighty Anduin was no longer possessed by the kingdom of Gondor, but rather Rohan. As were the grasslands. Great and proud though the past kings were, their eyes looked on with a tinge of what Narilvrin thought sadness. The elleth sang softly into the wind:  
“Ai, dim gon heneth palanda  
beleg erein iauro tiro a hi cirith.  
A dolen na aglar hi dór.  
Si firith na anor mí annún.”  
And suddenly she felt again the ominous presence. Would the foulness of Isengard be here soon? Narilvrin’s heart sank with the setting sun. It would be a dangerous business, trying to take on the current of the Anduin at night, so near to the falls of Rauros. Narilvrin could hear the booming of the falls from where she was. Aragorn told the others to bank their boats, and so they did. They were to camp at the base of Amon Hen this night, though Narilvrin wished they would not, although she knew they had little choice. Something was drawing ever nearer...what foulness had Saruman sent to destroy them?  
Soon they had tied up the boats and set up camp. A dim fire was lit and everyone enjoyed a light meal before rest. Narilvrin claimed the first watch again. Aragorn placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder before the Elf entered a nearby tree.  
“You look distressed.”  
“We should not linger here...eryn peda nin.” Said Narilvrin, leaping into the branches of the tree. “Aragorn, galadhad peda fuinon...dagnir a sereg na nev.”

All of the Fellowship was all resting, save Narilvrin, since Legolas had finished his watch earlier. The elleth sat in the tree with some difficulty because of the ominous air about her that clogged her senses. A sigh escape her lips and drifted into the breezy night air, and if by chance, it came to land on Boromir, waking him from his light slumber. He’d had trouble resting, thinking of his beloved Elven Lady and saw the dark and dreadful future that beheld the fate of the Elf maiden. Taking a deep breath, he gazed through each of the treetops, and yet he had found nothing until he came to the last one and a revelational sight was there to meet him.

Upon a thick bough seemingly covered with strange, golden leaves sat Narilvrin, shrouded with her own aura of white firelight, her flame red hair billowing about her pale face tinted of silver, and her eyes a tempest of green and gold glints. He wondered if he would again feel and taste the skin of his beloved and of her fervent flame once more. As if summoned, she slowly turned her head to gaze in Boromir eyes, pain and longing veiling her once solemn but mirthful eyes; her fair slender hand came up and beckoned to him in a way that only he could understand, and she clasped whatever she held in her other hand. The Gondorian stood and stepped carefully to the tree and waited for Narilvrin to gracefully jump down, his eyes more than of masked concern.

The Elf maid came down from the branch and with a look at the others most likely to Aragorn and Legolas, she strode off with Boromir into the woods, ever wary of what may lie ahead of them. Narilvrin glanced everywhere her glinting eyes could pierce, awaiting some kind of trap or ambush, looking then at Boromir with assurance on her face. Worry covered Boromir’s features as a question of thought went his mind and the Warrior quickly looked up, and it seemed that a flash of different emotions were upon his fair face, realizing it was Narilvrin conversing with him. Let this be our last chance once more to swim in the bliss that we know of… Narilvrin again felt the stab of pain in her heart, and came closer to his face until she was two inches away, touching his hand ever so lightly to arouse him from his paralysis and placed the grey-blue necklace in open hand. Boromir brought his hand up and caressed her cheek, seeing Narilvrin close her eyes as a tear cascaded down to encounter the calloused hand. The Lord lightly brushed the tear away and leaned inwards ever so slowly and halted when his lips were only less than a breath away, gazing at Narilvrin’s closed eyes as if asking for something he knew he could have. A miniscule nod was his answer as Narilvrin finally opened her eyes that now glinted fiercely from tears. Barely audible words poured from her mouth, pleading for something, only one could give her, but Boromir had heard whatever she had said to him. Pushing her against a large tree, their lips coupled as the Gondorian’s tongue slid past the Elf’s barrier and into her mouth, where a slick and wet tongue awaited his own; an aggressive war was fought in their mouths until they broke for breath, a look of some relief. Boromir moved his hand from her cheek to fall upon her slender hips, pulling Narilvrin to him, and soon his mouth and tongue was at the Elf’s ear, licking and suckling it gently that brought forth moans through the breezy night air as the elleth felt the arousal of her beloved’s erection against her most sensitive spot. The Warrior’s hands went to cup her breasts after opening her jerkin and silken shirt and kneaded them gently, warmth spreading throughout his body as he felt the warm aura emanated from her; Narilvrin broke from his embrace only a while to shed her clothes, her pale skin glowing translucently in the night, as Boromir did the same ever finding her body more desirable than before. They laid themselves upon the forest floor, and with Boromir atop of her now, his eyes once again beheld the translucent-silvery beauty of the Elf’s skin and her curvaceous body in the midst of him, a desire building heatedly in his loins no longer suppressed. Gently placing his steamy mouth upon Narilvrin’s own, Boromir roughly thrust his unusually large erection inside of her, feeling her arch against his muscular chest and gasped excitedly into his mouth. With one hand upon her shoulder and one on her hip, he then began to thrust slowly until it became unbearable in their heat and soon was thrusting into her uncontrollably, unable to help himself; Narilvrin then hooked her legs upon Boromir’s hips and dug crescents into his back, whimpering some unknown request into his ear. Abruptly he stopped and sat up on one arm to support himself and beginning again, thrusting into heated places he had never reached before, hitting spots that caused Narilvrin to moan loudly. Finally with a deep cry, Boromir let his seed flow into the Elf maiden’s hot core, spent from their second union. The elleth felt her beloved’s fluid spread throughout her, its feeling of fire engulfing her entire being. ‘It was the second time we had united, and it would not be our last’. Thought Narilvrin as she felt something stir within her womb and the grey-blue glow from the necklace not far from Boromir’s hand.

Translations:  
“Ai, sad stone eyes gaze afar.  
Mighty kings of old watch over this pass  
and hidden is (the) glory (of) this land.  
Now fading is (the) sun in the West.”  
“Eryn peda nin.” = “(The) forests speak for me.”  
“Aragorn, galadhad peda fuinon...dagnir a sereg na nev.” = “Aragorn, (the) trees speak of darkness...battle and blood is near.


	9. Of Battle and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

The night was eerily silent, with little more than a breeze to rustle the leaves. The nocturnal creatures of the wood were no where to be found. Narilvrin knew something was amiss. She stood, perched skillfully on a high branch, staring out into the night. Keen though her eyes were, it was difficult for them to penetrate the dark of this night, which felt particularly thick. The air had a rankness to it and all about her it felt as though Saruman’s new evil was closing in around him and his comrades. A shiver ran down her spine, as she could smell the foul odor of whatever it was that approached all the stronger again. She had hoped it would not be so; she had hoped that this terror would pass them by. But it would not be so.  
The Elf sighed as she gazed at the faces of her companions as they flickered in and out of the shadows that danced around the fire. It would be important that they get all the rest possible, for there would be no more of that from here on out. Somehow, the peaceful faces of her sleeping friends seemed to comfort her, if only a little. She would protect them, and the Ringbearer more so, although she felt that Frodo would leave them very soon. “Saruman, pedalin hi na met? Pedon le peda úgolodh. Na úamarth hin nambarten si a na úamarth nin.” Said Narilvrin into the breeze. She heard familiar footsteps from afar.  
“It most certainly is not. What is it that you are gazing at? I see nothing,” said a man from the ground below.  
“O, Aragorn. Ai, palan na hi aeg gwath si! ” Aragorn frowned slightly at this. “I sense an evil very near us. We must leave here soon and can tarry no longer. Saruman is, no doubt, in pursuit of the Ring and he must not acquire it.”  
“How long do we have?”  
“I do not know.”  
“Then we will first make preparations and allow the Hobbits to eat before setting off.” Aragorn held up two felled Pheasants.  
“I fear we have not the time.”  
“If you know not how long we have, then we have no way of knowing whether or not this threat will be here in hours or days, and it would be best not to worry the others.”  
“I suppose...” Narilvrin agreed hesitantly. She strongly believed that they should leave immediately and without postponement, but did not wish to go against the will of her friend. Narilvrin nodded solemnly then leapt from the tree. “We must be getting back to the others. I still have yet to catch a glimpse of a threat, although I feel it all around us. I will keep a close watch this night.” The Ranger gave the Elf a pat on the back.  
“It will be fine,” he said reassuringly. Narilvrin knew they should leave, and her mind urged her to force the suggestion upon Aragorn, but she knew better, and trusted her friend’s judgement. The two walked back together in silence, striding side by side, the Elf considerably quieter.  
The sun had yet to rise, and so the rest of the company had yet to rise as well. Narilvrin took a seat against the trunk of a nearby tree, gazing into the crackling flames of the fire. Aragorn sat upon a log closer to the glowing source of warmth. A long silence followed, and though it was not awkward, it was not particularly comfortable. Neither were asleep, but rather ever watchful for any sign of a threat’s approach. Soon Narilvrin realized that the Ranger had slipped into a light sleep. She smiled somewhat. “At last, you rest!” Narilvrin murmured.  
Indeed, she was relieved. It had concerned the Elf of late that her friend may not have been resting properly, and Narilvrin had continuously reminded Aragorn that, although the Ranger had been raised by elves, it did not mean that he had acquired all of their abilities. Rest was a necessary thing for all creatures, but more so for mortals than elves. The flaw in Narilvrin’s plan finally became apparent to her. The Ranger had a particularly loud snore!  
How will I ever manage to listen for a threat with that racket? Narilvrin thought to herself jokingly as she heaved a sigh. If any birds had yet lingered in the trees, they certainly did not now. An exhausted man is not often able to hear just how loud his snoring is, and so, often has a tendency to continuing such snoring. Oh well...I am thankful, at least, that he sleeps...  
Finally, signs of the bright colors of the sunrise appeared on the horizon. The fire had all but died out, and Narilvrin had not moved from her place. All night she had remained awake, listening closely for any sign of the approaching evil. Although the others did not sense it, with the exception of maybe Aragorn, the rankness in the air had increased to a near smothering amount for the Elf. She could hardly bare to breath in the foul air around her. She hid all signs of discomfort from the others, as not to worry them.  
Narilvrin’s senses suddenly shot up. Something was here! Something had come, and by the smell of it, it was what Narilvrin had been dreading. For fear the evil she sensed would come to the small campsite, Narilvrin scooped up her long curved sword, bow, quiver, and knives and dashed into the woods to meet it, signaling Legolas to follow. The number was few, the Elves knew, only a portion of the growing shadow she still felt had arrived. More would come, but Narilvrin felt that they were still farther of, a day’s journey at the most.  
It was yet dim at Amon Hen, the sunny rays only just peaking through the dead of night, though the sky was touched with pink. There was a small mist over the still dew sprinkled ground that wetted the toes of her light shoes as she walked. The smell from the creatures, for Narilvrin had established that the enemies were indeed creatures, was horrendous, and Narilvrin had to will herself not to cover her nose. If I did not know any better, I would say this is the stench of Orcs...but it feels far greater than mere Orcs...these are surely something I have never seen before. What are these creatures? The Elf maiden thought as she continued on, at a quick but silent jog.  
Then she heard them. Their feet trampled over the fallen leaves and twigs noisily and it would have been extremely difficult to miss them. They appeared to be akin to the Orc...but they were much larger, the size of a man if not bigger. The grimy armor they wore bore the white hand of the traitorous wizard Saruman. So I was correct, thought the Elf as she silently approached from behind, not wanting to attract any attention. The path the foul creatures had been taking would have lead directly towards where the Fellowship was camped. Thank the Valar that I found them before they found us...! Narilvrin shuddered at the thought of what might have occurred had she fallen asleep.  
The Elves estimated their numbers to be only around fifteen strong, although they could not be sure. It was always possible that some were still hidden behind trees. Judging their bow to be the best weapon for now, as well as it being their weapon of choice, they drew an arrow with a fletching the colors of foliage from their quiver and silently nocked it. Drawing the bow in a fluid motion, their drawing hand came to rest near their cheek. Taking careful aim, they quickly let the arrow fly, not wanting, nor needing to pull the bow to its maximum draw length for more than a second. With a thud the arrow struck its target square in its neck. The creature gasped for breath but did not fall! What creature could withstand such a blow!?  
“‘Uruks’.... a ‘Uruk-hai’ hi na esse lin.” Breathed Narilvrin and quickly looked at Legolas, who too was puzzled, and quickly nocking another arrow, she hit her target again in the neck, so close to where her previous arrow had struck that the fletchings touched. With two arrows protruding through its windpipe, the creature at last went down. There were looks of confusion among the other hideous beings, but they soon discovered the source of the arrows. An Elf standing near a large tree. The remaining fourteen in their terrifying company ran towards the Elf. Nocking two arrows at once, Narilvrin shot the nearest ‘Uruk’ in the neck, using the same strategy as she had used to fell the prior. It worked, although barely. The creature stumbled a few more feet before slowly collapsing. The sun was rising quicker now, making it easier to aim.  
Again, Narilvrin nocked two arrows...aimed....thud. Twelve still ran at her, coming within only a few yards. She saw Legolas nearby with his knives in hand, and readied for the attack. Narilvrin quickly swung her bow over her shoulder and drew her curved sword, knowing a bow would do little good in close combat. Five were ahead of the others. Good....they will come in two smaller waves rather than one mass...for this I am thankful. Thought the Elf as she thrust her sword blade beneath the arm of the approaching Uruk-hai and the other through the creature’s neck, both places she had judged to have the weakest armor. Kicking the body off her sword, she spun to the right, gutting another and jerking the blade upward to insure a fatal blow. Black blood dripped from the blade. Narilvrin slashed the neck of the next creature and was surprised when the sharp blade connected with thick bone. The contact sent a wave of pain through her arm, but she pushed the blade with all the strength she could muster, finally making a complete cut through the thick neck. The sickening head rolled to the ground and the body soon followed.  
The last two Uruks of the first wave Narilvrin felled at the same time. With a magnificent display of swordsmanship, Narilvrin spun her blade and sliced through the necks of both, jerking upwards towards the base of their heads and disconnecting the brainstem at the back, this time wary that she needed to use more strength than with Orcs. The remaining six came all at once. Narilvrin ran behind a tree and out once more, separating the company into two groups of three. She dispatched one easily, finding a weak spot in its armor just behind the knee, she cut through just above the kneecap. The creature collapsed, though not dead. As it fell, it slashed its own sword, just grazing Narilvrin’s thigh. The Elf quickly took out two long knives, sheathing her sword, and stabbed one downwards, through the base of the creature’s neck, while parrying the attack from a new assailant. The force with which the Uruk-hai slammed his near blunt sword against Narilvrin’s own was astounding and it shuddered up through the bone of her arm. Pulling her knife free from the other corpse, she caught the creature’s blade between her own two then swiftly jabbed one just below the creature’s arm, where the armor was particularly weak. Swinging upwards, she managed to cut through the bone, severing the arm. With a quick sweep, she had dispatched this creature as well. She thrust her knives through the windpipe of the next, just above the collarbone then cut both left and right.  
By now, the other three had entered the fray again. One came from behind while two came from the front. The Elf bent low and spun on the ball of her foot, sweeping across the abdomens of all three Uruks. It hardly stunned them and they continued their attack. From behind, the Uruk was able to manage one blow across Narilvrin shoulder before it was felled. Narilvrin had loped off the bottom half of its jaw. The cut Narilvrin had received was neither deep nor horribly grievous and Narilvrin disregarded it. The last two swung their swords in sync and Narilvrin was forced to parry one with his left and one with his right. The Uruk to the right lurched forward and head butted the Elf in the gut. The wind was momentarily knocked from her lungs but she managed to steer clear of the fatal blow by running past the Uruk-hai to his left as her parry began to fail. The Uruk struck the other in the shoulder, connecting with the bone as Narilvrin removed her hold against the large creature’s overpowering strength. Use their strength to your advantage.... Narilvrin doubted that these creatures had any true loyalties though the sound of cracking bones had been horrendous. The Elf promptly slew the last two enemies. Her blade dripped with a black, putrid blood and her own thigh and arm dripped crimson. She had narrowly escaped, and certainly not unscathed but had not fared horribly.  
The Elf was breathing heavily and she had a slight sheen of sweat across her forehead. She was exhausted. The blow to the stomach had still left her panting. The force with which the creature had slammed into her had been tremendous. Carefully, she made her way to lean against a tree. Her vision had become slightly blurred and walking had become a difficult task. Nausea had set in as well, and Narilvrin clutched the tree with shaking hands to keep her legs from giving way. Her right thigh and shoulder were searing with pain, but the injuries were not extremely serious, although they would be if not tended to. The feeling of sickness subsided. At last catching her breath, Narilvrin tried to collect herself. Her breathing had begun to calm and it no longer came in jerks. Cautiously, Narilvrin took a step forward. The nausea returned, but she found it easier to walk now that she had caught her breath. There was a slight limp in her step, though, from the cut across her thigh. Legolas came to her aid, helped her settle against a tree, and inspected her wounds, and reading her thoughts she said:  
‘I do not doubt that more will follow in the footsteps of these...We must warn Aragorn and the others. We must leave at once.’ Legolas nodded in agreement but told Narilvrin to stay in her place.  
Meanwhile the others had awoken. Sam had prepared a fine breakfast from the Pheasants and the Hobbits were enjoying it now. There had been a sudden clashing of metal in the distance that had caused all to jump. Aragorn sat up with a jolt, looking at each face of the Fellowship. One was missing.  
“Where is Narilvrin, and where is Legolas!?” He asked, his worry growing.  
“I thought they would be up some tree? Have you sought them there?” Gimli said sarcastically.  
“Where is are they!?” Asked Boromir, panic lining his words, “Those sounds of battle are what worry me most. I would that we should find out what has happened.”  
Aragorn nodded. “But we cannot leave anyone alone. We do not know who or what, for that matter, is the cause of this battle, and it may be after the Ring. Gimli, please stay with the Hobbits. Have your weapons on hand, my friends.” Gimli grumbled momentarily about being left behind, as did Merry and Pippin, but they understood the urgency of the matter and this understanding outweighed their curiosity.  
Aragorn and Boromir made their way into the trees. The direction the sounds were coming from was not far off, and it worried both that such a disturbance had occurred so nearby. Boromir, of the two, was worried even more by the absence of Narilvrin and prayed to the Valar that his beloved was not the source of the commotion. The sounds suddenly vanished. Aragorn knew all too well that Narilvrin and Legolas were not unwilling to enter a battle alone...and Aragorn knew too that Narilvrin and Legolas would have been the first to sense any threat, thus making them the first to attack. Boromir suddenly pointed ahead.  
“Aragorn, look ahead! What are these creatures? And so many of them, already slain! But by who were they slain, and why are they here, I wonder? What a puzzling site this is to come upon.” The Son of the Steward exclaimed, kneeling down next to one of the strange creatures. “They appear to be Orcs...be I have never before encountered one so large. Why, I would wager they are bigger than a full-grown man. Have you seen such foul beings before?”  
“I must admit, I have not, yet I must agree with you...they strongly resemble Orcs, although thrice their size and bigger than any Orc ever I have seen.” Said the Ranger, approaching the putrid corpse. Suddenly, Boromir spied something much more important. There was an Elf leaning against a tree not far off, in the direction of the camp. Her dark blue attire was stained red with blood, though the Warrior did not notice this; Legolas was by her side and beckoned him over quickly. Boromir’s heart wrenched as he realized whom it was. Without further hesitation, he dashed to the Elf’s side.  
“Narilvrin!! What are you doing here?!” The Elf looked up at him, her feet finally gave way and she slid to the ground, but Legolas supported her with holding Narilvrin in his arms. Blood loss had at last weakened her.  
“Oh...Boromir. I was hoping you would find me, the stench of those creatures is quite fearsome... and I would much prefer... to sit upwind of them rather then down.” Narilvrin forced a grin to Legolas.  
“What were you thinking!? Why did you not tell me you sensed something!?” The Warrior demanded, gripping his beloved’s shoulder. Narilvrin visibly winced, though obviously trying to suppress it. Boromir withdrew his hands immediately. “You are injured!” Boromir exclaimed, looking at the blood that had come off upon the palm of his hand. Legolas nodded.  
“But not grievously.... they are merely flesh wounds...I should be fine.” Aragorn, having heard Boromir’s exclamation, he rushed to follow the Warrior.  
“Narilvrin...?” Aragorn asked. “What are you doing here? Are you the one who slew so many foes?” Narilvrin nodded and began to sit up. She instantly regretted it. Pain flared through her side, the place where the Uruk had rammed into her and she was forced to draw her breath short. Legolas cautiously balanced the elleth by her unharmed shoulder.  
“Do not move unnecessarily. Boromir and Legolas will assist you to walk back to the camp, for I am sure you would not permit me to carry you. I am tending to your wounds once there no matter how much you care to protest.” Said Aragorn, pulling Narilvrin’s unscathed arm over his shoulder and easing the Elf back onto her feet. “You will tell me where you are hurt, for I am also sure some of your injuries may not be visible. ” Narilvrin nodded as she tried to hold back a gasp. Her side ached horridly. The hard skull of the Uruk-hai had done more damage than Narilvrin had previously thought.  
Boromir came to stand by Narilvrin other side, and looking into her eyes she spoke with him through her thoughts, and the three slowly made their way back to Gimli and the Hobbits.  
“Tell me first where you are hurt, and I will relent in my interrogation of you until you have been tended.” Narilvrin sighed heavily.  
“I think I will be fine...there is no need for this...”  
“I don’t want to hear it! Where are you hurt?” Aragorn demanded. The Elf gave him a defiant glare before giving in.  
“My right arm and right thigh have light flesh wounds...but there is nothing more of any importance.” Aragorn narrowed his eyes.  
Legolas experimentally nudged Narilvrin’s side very gently. The Elf winced and clenched his fists as not to gasp. “You are right, Aragorn, she is lying.”  
“Your side is hurt...” Narilvrin nodded. Aragorn had defeated him. The Ranger was too stubborn to relent.  
“I fear that one of my ribs may have been injured, but as I have said before, I am fine.” With that, Legolas nudged her once more. Having been caught unprepared for the pain, she let a barely audible moan escape her lips.  
“You are not fine. I do not wish to hear another word from you.” Aragorn stared the Elf in the eye. “Not unless those words are ‘I admit that I am injured.’ Understand?”  
“Very well. But...”  
“If you are going to say ‘I admit that I am injured’ then continue...but otherwise, I will not listen. We are going back to the others. Legolas, would you grab her other arm? Do so carefully, though, and take heed not to stress that wound.” Legolas did as he was told, and in this fashion, the three made their way back to Gimli and the Hobbits.  
Narilvrin, though somewhat nettled, was grateful for the assistance. In truth, had her two companions not sought for her, it would have been a very long and uncomfortable night. Although the wound on her thigh was not horridly deep, it was in a very irritating place. In order to walk efficiently, she would have to irritate the wound, which would do no good to stop the slowly flowing stream of blood. Aragorn my friend...you are too stubborn for your own good.

“Saruman, pedalin hi na met? Pedon le peda úgolodh. Na úamarth hin nambarten si a na úamarth nin.” = “Saruman, you say this is (the) end? I say thou speak unwise. (It) is not (the) fate (of) these to be doomed here and (it) is not my fate.”  
“O, Aragorn. Ai, palan na hi aeg gwath si! ” = “O, Aragorn. Alas, far and wide is this fell shadow now!”  
“‘Uruks’.... a ‘Uruk-hai’ hi na esse lin.” = “Uruks....and Uruk-hai. This is your name.”


	10. Of Darkness Settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

The sun had risen in the sky, and the last traces of pink had vanished from the clouds. Day was upon them, but they had not continued their journey. The seven members of the Fellowship who had remained at the campsite when Aragorn and Boromir had left in search of the battle were surprised by the manner of their return. More so when three had returned when only two had set out. The Elf’s arms had been slung over the shoulders of both men and there was a bloodstain on her shoulder and thigh. Narilvrin had visibly winced with the taking of each step. She was now propped up against a tree a ways away from the former place of the fire. Aragorn approached her, holding shreds of cloth that would serve as bandages.  
“I am going to tend to your wounds now...” He said, kneeling next to the Elf.  
“I wish you would not. I am sure more will follow in the footsteps of those creatures...I would that we did not linger here.”  
“You know as well as I that if your injuries are not tended, they will become more serious...Elf or not.” Narilvrin glared at the Ranger but did not argue further. She knew her friend was right. If the blood flow was not stopped, the wounds would indeed become grievous and that was certainly the last thing the Fellowship needed. Aragorn took Narilvrin’s silence as consent and set about his work. First, he removed the left side of the Elf’s suede jerkin and the pale blue shirt underneath. The wound was cut jaggedly, for the weapons of the Uruk-hai had not been made to make clean cuts, but rather to make painful ones.  
“This may sting...”Aragorn cleaned the wound, then rubbed a salve around it to prevent any infection. Narilvrin’s breath came short.  
“May sting?” She said through clenched teeth. The Ranger grinned without looking up from his work. Taking a shred of cloth, he bound the Elf’s upper arm and shoulder tightly. But Aragorn was not done. The wound on the Elf’s shoulder was not what worried him, it was her side. The Ranger had noticed Narilvrin’s unsteady and pained breathing and knew there must be a cause other then exhaustion. Aragorn examined the Elf closely. Her side had already bruised a painful shade of purplish blue. Tentatively, the Ranger nudged Legolas’ side. The Elf gritted her teeth, thereby confirming Aragorn’s suspicions.  
“I am sorry, Narilvrin...I fear that you have broken a rib...I must get it back in place before I bind anything...” The Elf nodded, unconcerned. “It will hurt...”  
“I care not. Do what you must.” Aragorn nodded. Not wishing to cause further pain, the Ranger searched carefully for the broken rib. Already Narilvrin was clenching her fists at his sides, but he kept a straight face and appeared to be uninterested in the whole situation. After much searching, Aragorn located the damaged rib and promptly, yet heedfully set it back in place. The Elf had been caught off guard and let out a gasp. Indeed the sudden increase in pain had been horrible, however gently the Ranger had tried to go about it. Narilvrin’s brow furrowed slightly. Aragorn smiled sympathetically before tightly binding Narilvrin’s abdomen and torso as to hold the rib securely in place. Narilvrin pulled the silken shirt and layered jerkin back over her shoulder. Finally, Aragorn came to the wound on the Elf’s leg. This was not as bad as the injury on her shoulder, or the broken rib, and was easily bound, although maybe more aggravating.  
“There you are.” Said the Ranger, admiring his work. Narilvrin shrugged somewhat and tried to sit up. She was immediately pushed back by Aragorn. “No moving.” The Elf glared up at Aragorn. What a pitiful state for an Elf...thought Narilvrin to herself.  
“But we must not tarry here. More will follow those creatures...their evil still lingers in these woods.” Aragorn gave Narilvrin a highbrowed and serious look.  
“I think it will do us no good wherever we go. They will follow. You have dispatched of the imminent threat and have more than earned a day’s rest.” Narilvrin, although knowing this to be true, was reluctant to linger here, and more so to rest. She was also angry with herself for allowing herself to be injured. She knew it would hinder the Fellowship’s progress and distressed all the more by the ever present feeling of danger. The others had been quite silent, and had watched Aragorn’s work closely. All were confused as to what had happened, and to a greater extent when patient and healer had begun to talk of approaching evil.  
“What is this evil that you both speak of?” Said Gimli, voicing the questions that had crossed everyone’s minds, save Legolas, Aragorn’s and Narilvrin’s.  
“A few days back, Narilvrin sensed a foulness drawing near. She voiced her concerns to me, but did not wish to burden anyone needlessly...” Legolas paused, looking towards the Elf. “And what occurred today is only that we encountered a portion of this evil and took it upon ourselves to battle them.” Narilvrin nodded.  
“I sensed their arrival...early this morning...even before the sun had risen. I apologize for not informing you...but as Legolas has said....I did not wish to burden you,” Narilvrin agreed, her voice uneven. Breathing had become difficult again, for although the rib had been put back in place and bound, it hurt all the more from such movement.  
“Thank you, Narilvrin, but please do not feel as though you must take everything upon yourself.” Said Boromir, noticing the Elf maiden’s unsteady breathing, although his eyes told of something else. Narilvrin gazed into his grey-green eyes and once more felt a pain stab inside her, feeling that Boromir could have lost her if she had not survived.  
“We do not wish to lose another member of our Fellowship,” said Frodo, remembering the grief he had, and still felt after Gandalf’s fall in Moria.  
“I say it was selfish of you...I am always up for a good fight. The creatures you speak of would not have had a chance against my axe!” Narilvrin smiled but said nothing.  
“Not these creatures, Master Dwarf, they are nothing like what we have encountered thus far,” said Legolas, with a grin, “it is a wonder that Narilvrin came out of the fray with only these injuries. I fear it could have been far worse.” Gimli shrugged.  
“But, Mister Strider, what are we going to do today, if not journey?” Asked Sam.  
“We are going to let Narilvrin rest, firstly...but I suppose we will need something to occupy ourselves...” Aragorn sighed, trying to think of something that the Hobbits would enjoy doing. Narilvrin sat up again, beckoning Frodo closer to her. The Hobbit leaned towards her and the Elf whispered in his ear, audible to no other.  
“I have an idea. This is the perfect opportunity for Gimli and I to get back at Aragorn and for yourself to get back at Merry and Pippin.” Frodo nodded his agreement. And so, whilst Aragorn engrossed himself in preparing for the continuation journey...the others were busy conspiring as to what would make for the best prank. All the others conspired, that is, save Merry and Pippin, who Boromir had thankfully thought to occupy with a lesson in swordsmanship, which they had not practiced since Caradhras.  
Narilvrin asked for rope, if it could be found, and soon set about contriving the mechanics of the trick to be played. The others worked quickly and quietly at their own parts in the prank. Five makeshift buckets of water were gathered in secret and, when the eyes of the watchful Ranger were occupied elsewhere, Narilvrin, though very carefully as not to harm herself further, climbed to the treetops. The buckets were attached to the rope, and were then sent to him by a simple pulley system. Once within his reach, the Elf positioned them amongst the branches around her, wary not to let them spill. Next sent were leaves, bundled safely within a cloak. These were tied to the branch above him for safekeeping. Gimli and Sam hid within the bushes nearest the tree Narilvrin sat within wit Legolas at her side. Frodo was sent to fetch Boromir, who was still working desperately to distract Merry and Pippin. As he approached, he could hear Boromir giving the Hobbits instructions.  
“One...two...one...two...” He mumbled as he took turns sparing against each Hobbit individually.  
“Ouch!” Yelled Pippin, after being struck, fairly lightly, upon the hand by Boromir’s sword. Of course, it had been accidental, but Pippin had charged the unfortunate Son of the Steward regardless. Merry had joined in for the fun of it. When Frodo emerged from the trees, Boromir was unsuccessfully attempting to fend off the two Halflings. He turned when he heard Frodo’s footsteps and was thus sadly distracted and lost his footing. The two onrushing Hobbits gave a shout of victory. Boromir shook his head as he rose from the ground, shaking leaves from his hair. While Merry and Pippin were busy enjoying their triumph, Frodo was able to sneak in a word with Boromir. He was told, though out of earshot of Merry and Pippin, of what had been prepared. With a nod, he returned to his two students.  
“Well, Merry...your swordsmanship certainly has improved since last we practiced, and yours too, Pippin,” muttered Boromir. “But now I imagine we should go back to camp.” The two nodded their agreement, and Boromir lead them back to where the proposed camp was, taking heed to follow the route that Frodo had described to him. Frodo then dashed off, seeking Aragorn. Finding him at the boats quickly enough, he ran up to him, appearing as worried as possible.  
“What is it...?” Frodo cut him off.  
“Strider! Narilvrin and Legolas has spotted more of those dreadful creatures you spoke of! They went off after them!”  
Aragorn twirled around from what he was doing and faced Frodo straight in the eye, his own eyes wide with concern.  
“Which way did they go!?”  
“I know the way! Follow me!” Frodo said, running off into the woods. Aragorn followed quickly. The two neared a pair of trees and spied Boromir standing with Merry and Pippin. Frodo ran up to them, stopping Aragorn beneath the tree next to Merry and Pippin. Frodo, along with Boromir, moved quickly to the side.  
“Frodo...where is Na...” But before he could finish his sentence, Ranger and Hobbits both were ambushed from right, left and above by five buckets of water. The Hobbits gasped and Aragorn managed to splutter a few words...those being “Legolas, Narilvrin, I know you’re behind this!!!”  
The four stood, dripping wet, and now Legolas and Narilvrin unleashed the leaves, letting lose a shower of green and brown seemingly from the sky. The leaves stuck to the drenched members of the Fellowship perfectly. Musical laughter filled the treetops and soon after, Sam and Gimli emerged from their places in the bushes, laughing happily. Boromir and Frodo joined in. Merry and Pippin looked at each other, and upon realizing what they now looked like and despite their drenched situation, both began to laugh along with the others. Aragorn, though holding a look of annoyance, smiled somewhat. The plan had worked wonderfully.  
“Merry, you look like a drowned rat!” Pippin mocked.  
“You look no better!”  
“Oh...haha.” Said the Ranger, sarcastically, though not able to hold back a grin. He had to admit, whether he liked it or not, it was a prank well pulled.  
Narilvrin cautiously climbed down from above, laughing while she did so. It pained her side to do so, but she would not show it. Reaching the ground, she turned to Aragorn.  
“And at long last, we are even.” The Ranger sighed, pulling a few leaves from his hair. Legolas and Narilvrin smiled radiantly.  
“Indeed we are,” said Gimli.  
“But...why were we involved...in this?” Merry managed to inquire between his fitful laughs.  
“We thought you deserved it after all the tomfooleries you had pulled back home...I am sure the whole of the Shire would be celebrating had they seen this!” Said Frodo, his bright blues eyes glowing with mirth.  
“And Buckland too.” Added Sam happily.  
“Let us not forget how often you have tackled me when I try to teach you swordsmanship,” said Boromir very cheerfully.  
“Aw, I wish we had planned this!” Said Pippin. “But you had all better watch out!” Pippin scooped up a pile of wet leaves and flung them into the air, lavishing the entirety of the Fellowship. Narilvrin smiled, suppressing further laughter because of the pain it caused, but gladdened nonetheless by the results of their work. Aragorn, who had at last begun to laugh, frowned slightly, noticing the Elf’s brow furrowing mildly, despite her broad grin.  
“You should not be moving,” he said, placing a wet hand upon the Elf’s unharmed shoulder. Narilvrin beamed.  
“But how could I not? I would not want to miss such a site.”  
A huge leaf fight had broken out between Hobbits, Dwarf and Man...although Aragorn, Legolas and Narilvrin had managed to keep out of it unnoticed. The Elf’s strength had been slowly fading and the pain in her torso slowly increasing. At last she could hold herself up no longer and was forced to lean on the Ranger for support. Aragorn frowned, knowing that Narilvrin was in pain.  
“We had best head back to camp, my friends, for it is due time that we ate lunch...as we have not had time to do in quite awhile. I have caught a few ducks earlier that I am sure Sam would not mind cooking.” Announced Aragorn. Merry and Pippin, although thoroughly soaked, grinned all the more and scampered back towards the campsite, with the others following, though less vivaciously, behind them. Narilvrin, as much as she hated it, was helped back to camp by Aragorn. Once there, the Ranger bade her sit down and gave her a fierce glare.  
“Rest now.”  
“I am fine,” protested Narilvrin as Aragorn checked the Elf’s wounds once more, her side specifically.  
“Yes, yes, of course...I fear that you would say such no matter what your condition.”


	11. Of the Weight of Hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

It was a fine, warm day despite Narilvrin’s discomfort towards lingering at the base of Amon Hen. If she had her way, the Fellowship would be on their way once again, floating down the mighty Anduin at least until they neared closer to the falls of Rauros. The sun shown brightly, lessening the Elf’s growing worry. She was, nonetheless, ever watchful for any signs of more of the dreadful Uruk-hai she had encountered early that morning. And with her own injuries, however hard she tried to disregard them, she knew he would be at a disadvantage. With the wound on her arm, drawing a bow would be straining, although if the time came for her to do so, she would not hesitate. Around her the birds were singing, though not nearly as joyously as was wont for they too had noticed the unwelcome guests in these woods. One of these was a majestic silver eagle that came to be perched on her shoulder, cocking its head to the side. There was something about that bird that the elleth had recognized before, but now it remained blank to her. In its beak was held a necklace of grey-blue stone and the bird deposited it into the Elf’s open hand. Mouthing a word of thanks, Narilvrin watched as the silver eagle flew northward towards Lothlorien, and thought of whom would have sent it. Pushing the thought from her mind, the elleth rather concentrated on how to convince Aragorn that she was fine. Were it not for the vigilant eyes of the ever-present Ranger, Narilvrin would have joined them in the trees. Her side did ache horribly, though, and no matter how much her heart willed herself to sit up, her whole body retaliated. Besides that, every time the Elf attempted to move, Aragorn bade her sit still, seeing the pain in the Elf’s eyes. Narilvrin shot the Ranger a glare.  
“How much longer must I lie idle here? My mind grows restless.”  
“You will lie there until you are rested,” replied Aragorn. The Elf began to sit up at hearing this.  
“I am rested.” Narilvrin’s arms were shaky as he began the slow process of standing up. Upon hearing the quiet rustle of leaves behind her, Aragorn turned. Seeing Legolas getting to his feet, he walked over to the Elf, and, placing a firm hand on both shoulders pushed her to sit once more.  
“You most certainly are not.”  
“I most certainly am.” The Elf protested, trying to get up once more, in spite of the Ranger’s hands on her shoulders. Aragorn pushed her to the ground yet again and Narilvrin winced as his hand came to lay across the wound on her right shoulder. There was a small patch of blood on the Elf’s shoulder.  
“When did this start bleeding again?” Asked the Ranger, with growing agitation. Narilvrin shrugged, brushing aside the question. Aragorn groaned with frustration. “I will bind it again...but first....Merry, Pippin....would you assist me a moment!?” He yelled for the two Hobbits sitting a ways away. They came with identical looks of confusion.  
“What’s the matter, Strider?” Asked Pippin wonderingly.  
“You are now in charge of making sure Lady Narilvrin does not move. I am going to make a drink that will help soothe her discomfort.” Said Aragorn as he walked over to his pack near the fire. Merry and Pippin grinned upon receiving their assignments for they had previously been quite without anything to do. Narilvrin, underestimating them, began to get up.  
“Naw ah...Strider said you weren’t supposed to move.” Said Merry.  
“Friend though he may be, it is not often that I take orders. I am fine.”  
“Well, he put us in charge of keeping you still, and that is what we will do.” Chimed Pippin. With that, the two Hobbits plopped down across both the Elf’s legs, mindful not to hurt her wound. Narilvrin groaned.  
“This is not necessary...I am not so injured that...” Merry poked Narilvrin carefully in the side. The Elf cringed.  
“Evidence enough for me that you should not be up and about,” said Merry.  
“That was not necessary either.” Narilvrin tried to move her legs, but with the injury on her right leg and the broken rib, little could be done to displace the determined Hobbits.  
“No moving.” Pippin mimicked Aragorn, making himself more comfortable. The Ranger looked over his shoulder from his work with a smile.  
“It seems that I have found the two best fit for the difficult task of subduing an Elf,” said Aragorn as he crumpled a few leaves, adding them to a cup of heated water. Narilvrin shot him another fierce glare. Moments later Aragorn finished brewing the drink and brought the steaming cup over to the Elf, kneeling beside her. “Drink this.” The Ranger held the cup out to the Elf. The water had gained a tint of green and smelled of herbs.  
“It is unneeded,” said Narilvrin defiantly, pushing it away.  
“As a friend it would comfort me to know that you are at ease, at the very least. Drink this.”  
“And it would comfort me were we to persist in our journey...” Began Narilvrin, but before he could say another word, the Ranger poured half the contents of the cup down the Elf’s throat, forcing her to swallow lest he choke.  
“Victory!” Yelled Pippin happily, with a grin.  
“I assume you wish to drink the rest on your own,” said Aragorn, proud of his accomplishment. Narilvrin threw a nearby twig at the Ranger.  
“Aragorn, you have done much to rile me these days of late, and if you so choose to continue, I can assure you that you will receive more than a twig as punishment!” The Ranger shook his head, frowning, and brushing the twig from his shoulder. He did not mind so long as the Elf concerned herself with resting and not resisting treatment. Indeed, it had alarmed him to know that Narilvrin had been sitting in the treetops one moment and being forced to lean on him for support the next. But...I should not worry so. Narilvrin is strong...and she was injured only just this morning. To be walking around is a great accomplishment, Elf though she be. Thought Aragorn to himself.  
“Just drink it, mellon nin.” Reluctantly, Narilvrin extended her hand and took the cup. She knew the ranger would not relent in his protests. With a sigh and a last glower in Aragorn’s direction, she took a sip. It tasted much more pleasant when she drank it willingly. But there was something oddly recognizable about it, if not admonishing.  
“Are you pleased?” Aragorn nodded slightly. Narilvrin narrowed her eyes suddenly, recognizing more fully the scent that emanated from the drink she held in her hand. “A sedative...!” Aragorn grinned.  
“I knew I could not fool you for long...but I made sure to add enough of the plant to down even an Elf, if only for an hour...” Narilvrin gritted her teeth as her eyes became drowsy. I should have known he would do something of this sort...Thought the Elf. Indeed, Aragorn had added much more of the sleep-inducing plant than was needed, even for an Elf.  
For Narilvrin the world around her was slowly blurring into a mass of color. The many leaves above had become a flood of shades of green. The quietly chattering birds became silent to his ears. Narilvrin slowly feel into a light sleep, however hard she had tried to fight it. She had been weary before the drink had been forced upon her...but with it now, sleep was inevitable. As the Elf slipped into slumber, Aragorn set to work.  
He had been unsure of whether or not he should stitch Narilvrin’s wound, but was now decided. Not only that, but he had not wished to cause any further pain by doing such while Narilvrin was conscious although he knew the Elf maiden would have been more than able to cope.  
Merry and Pippin watched the resting Elf with curiosity, for it was the first time they had ever seen this. Aragorn smiled as he searched through a pack for a needle and thread and upon finding them, cleaned them thoroughly. He calmly threaded the needle.  
Sliding the suede jerkin and silken shirt beneath from the Elf’s shoulder, the Ranger cautiously began to sew the flesh. Fresh blood from the tiny punctures slowly collected. Aragorn wiped this away with his sleeve. Narilvrin’s quietus face winced slightly, for even in sleep, she was always alert. The two Hobbits watched this with even more fascination, although they were still hesitant about whether or not to move from where they sat.  
Aragorn worked carefully, placing each stitch as neatly as could be done. Throughout this time, Narilvrin did not flinch again. When at last he was finished, he wiped away any more blood that had accumulated and rebandaged the wound. Before finishing, Aragorn checked the Elf’s side. As long as Narilvrin slept, he may as well do what he could. The bruise had not lessened and if anything had grown a worse shade of purplish blue. He re-wrapped the Elf’s torso after checking the damaged rib with a frown. Slowly the Elf pulled her attire back over her shoulder with a look of annoyance. Had the drink worn off? But no, Narilvrin’s eyes did not open. Aragorn sat back upon his heels with a shake of his head.  
“Merry, Pippin...stay near her. I do not want her wandering away should he awaken.” The two Hobbits nodded, accepting the assignment.  
Within the Elf’s dreams she felt the presence of the Uruk-hai all the more. The rankness was closing in around her as she slept, and in more numbers than could be imagined. Fifteen had been troublesome enough...how many could she fend off? How many could the Fellowship fend off? She wished that they would leave here. For the Ringbearer to encounter these creatures would be disastrous, and Narilvrin knew so. But she felt also that danger was growing within the Fellowship as well. Already she had seen signs of the Ring’s alluring effect on the Son of the Steward. How long would it be before it consumed the man? Such a thought was gotten rid off quickly before other questions accumulated. Frodo’s immunity to the Ring’s effect, at least thus far, had shocked the Elf...but how long would it be before this immunity crumbled as well? Sound finally broke the silence of her slumber.  
Around her Narilvrin could hear the voices of Hobbits talking happily. Narilvrin became aware of a growing numbness in her legs. Had Merry and Pippin yet to take seats elsewhere then the Elf’s legs? The feeling of a weight upon Narilvrin’s legs confirmed this. There was a clatter of pots. With that, the Elf opened her eyes with a quiet groan.  
“Blung pheriannath,” she mumbled. Merry and Pippin turned to face the Elf.  
“You are awake!” Said Pippin cheerfully upon hearing the Elf stirring. Narilvrin nodded her head as she rubbed the forced sleep from her eyes.  
“I would have never slept had it been my choice.”  
“Aw, but then you would have been awake for this...” Merry said, pointing to the Elf’s right shoulder. Now that she thought about, her shoulder did feel a bit odd. In curiosity, Narilvrin drew her clothes back to reveal her shoulder. The bandage had been changed, but something else felt different.  
“Aragorn stitched you up,” said Pippin, seeing the Elf’s confusion. And sure enough, when Narilvrin pulled back the side of the bandage, there were neat stitches holding the flesh together. Narilvrin shrugged. She would have deeply preferred to have remained conscious.  
There was another clatter of pots. Narilvrin looked around to find the source. Sam, putting down his precious pots and pans and walked over to the Elf.  
“Did I wake you? I should have taken more care to keep quiet while you rested...” Said Sam, apologetically.  
“It is most certainly alright. I am glad to be awake, for my sleep had not come willingly but forcibly and I most desired to be wakened in any case,” said Narilvrin, shooting Aragorn a deadly glare. Sam nodded and returned to his pots and pans and began poking at the former fire with a sigh.  
“We’ll be needing more firewood if I am to cook anything.” Aragorn was about to stand when Frodo stopped him, politely.  
“If you would, Strider, I would like to get it.” Aragorn pondered a moment but did not object.  
“So long as you do not stray far. Stay within yelling distance.”  
Frodo nodded and strode into the wood. The influence of the Ring had been growing of late. When at last he had learned of the strange creatures that Legolas and Narilvrin had slain, he realized they were the reason for this. The Ring wanted to be found. These creatures could provide that...they could bring the Ring back to its master. Knowing that he must be careful, Frodo began his search for firewood. In truth, he wanted a chance to be alone. A chance to think. As he searched along the ground there was a rustle of leaves nearby....had someone followed?  
Back at camp, Narilvrin fought desperately to stand, but the Hobbits were determined to keep him from doing so. Aragorn and Legolas had bade her sit down once more and Sam had agreed with the Ranger. Gimli had laughed outwardly as the Elf came close to being on her feet, only to be pushed to the ground by the Hobbits and with the aide of Legolas they had managed to render her immobile. Nevertheless, one was missing....  
Translation: Blung Pheriannath = Heavy halflings.


	12. Of the One Ring and the Son of the Steward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Though it was yet day at the base of Amon Hen, darkness was nearing. Nay, not darkness that blocks out the sun, but rather that which dampens the spirit. Narilvrin, as she lay beneath the tree, the two Hobbits restraining her legs, felt such. Not only from the nearing foulness of Saruman’s Uruk-hai beasts, but from a new shadow, one that had slipped by nearly unseen. She knew all too well, why the Son of the Steward had stolen off so quietly. Narilvrin had seen the eyes of the man staring all too often at the Ring that hung from Frodo’s neck. But the Elf had not yet lost all hope for Boromir, for she had seen in his eyes that very morning as he had laughed with the others, that the true self of the man was not yet gone forever, but only suppressed by the One Ring. The question was, could Boromir overcome his desire for the power the Ring was falsely offering. It appeared that no one else had noticed Boromir’s absence, as they continued to talk amongst each other.  
Frodo had walked slowly beneath the trees. Not far had he gone until he reached a path now in ruins. Following this he was lead to a flat topped stone ahead, Rowan-trees strewn about it. And thus he sat, quite forsaking his search for firewood. In truth, he wished only to ponder by himself. Aragorn had presented him with the decision of deciding which way the Fellowship would now turn. To Minas Tirith with Boromir, or into the East or even to break the Fellowship and each go their separate ways. This decision was left onto Frodo. This task burdened the Hobbit. He knew little of what he should do and longed for the wisdom of the fallen wizard.  
“What would you have me do?” He asked Gandalf as though he stood before him. And that was when he had heard a rustling of leaves behind him. Unfriendly eyes seemed to stare at him through the trees. Frodo turned in alarm. Boromir emerged from the trees, coming to stand near the Halfling. The man’s face seemed changed, though not unkind.  
“I was worried for you. None of us should wander alone, least of all you; so much depends on you.” Boromir sat next to Frodo. His demeanor was pleasant often, but now, though his tone had not changed, their was a strange glint in his eye. “Are you sure that you do not suffer needlessly? I offer you my counsel, as it would appear you are in need of some of late, if you would accept it.”  
“I know what it is you would say, and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart.” Replied Frodo cautiously. Something seemed different about the oft kind and understanding man.  
“Warning? Warning against what!?” Boromir’s voice grew somewhat angered. Frodo became silent, knowing himself the answer but not wishing to give words to it. “Long have my people fought and defended the lands of others...I would that the Ring went to Gondor.” At last the man showed his true colors.  
“There will be no hope while the Ring still lasts...” said Frodo solemnly.  
“Ah, but you speak of it as though it were of evil and only such! True in the hands of those that be evil so shall be the Ring, but why not use it towards good!?”  
“No good can ever come of it...all that is done will be turned to evil. It is a wicked thing.”  
“But so much good could come of it, Frodo! It would be an aid to Gondor...we could wield it against its master and defeat him. Were the Ring to come to me, I would drive away the foulness of Mordor forever. I would command with the very weapon of our enemy and make his defeat be all the more devastating! That would be the end of it, and nought would have come from it but good...! ” Boromir slammed a fist down atop the flat stone.  
“Were you not present at the council of Elrond? None but the Dark Lord can truly wield the One Ring...nought but evil will come of it, certainly no good. Gandalf knew it was so! I offered it to him freely but he rejected my offer sternly. He said he would use it out of a want to do good, as you wish as well, but he knew what would happen and denied the Ring of what it wanted.”  
“But it is a gift, a gift I say! You propose now to walk blindly into Mordor? You would be placing the Ring in the very hand of the enemy. Come with me to my city. It is near us now, and little farther than any other path you should choose to Mordor.” Said Boromir hopefully.  
“My mind is clearer now,” said Frodo with a sigh. Something about the Son of the Steward had been changed and he trusted him all the less for this.  
“Then do you choose Minas Tirith?”  
“You misunderstand me.”  
“But as I said, my city is so near, and so in need of the power the Ring could bestow...I beg of you, lend me the Ring, if only for awhile. I promise I will not keep it...”  
“No, no! The task was given me and I will not abandon it...” Frodo knew he could not let Boromir have the Ring. No matter what the man intended.  
“Now it is by your folly that we will be destroyed!! Why is it that a thing so powerful would be given to a Halfling and not the Númenor? It should have come to me! Give it me!!” The Boromir that had journeyed thus far with the Fellowship was gone. His face was no longer the kind and pleasant one of the man of Gondor. No, it was a face distraught with want and desire, corrupted by the evil that was the Ring. Frodo shrank away from the changed man.  
Now Boromir’s voice shifted to a softer tone. “Come, come, Frodo! Would you not be glad to be relieved of its burden? Let me relieve you of its weight...!” And at that Boromir leapt at the Halfling, his eyes beheld a crazed look. Quickly Frodo ducked to the side and with that slipped the Ring upon his finger, disappearing from sight. Boromir landed within the leaves and looked around him, confusedly.  
“A fool you are! You wish to use the Ring against us, do you not!? I know what it is you plan! You would forsake us here. You would take it to our Enemies! Plague and darkness come to the race of Halflings!! Fool!” Frodo scampered quickly away from the Son of the Steward. Down the path and into the trees. This the man heard and was then overcome by grief. He realized now what had happened. “What have I done?” Whispered the anguished man to the ground. “What have I done?”  
Frodo ran as fast as his feet would carry him. He knew now that, though Orcs and now Uruk-hai prowled amongst the trees, danger was where his companions were as well. The Ring would slowly corrupt them all, just as it had Boromir. I am sure the others will search for me by now, it had taken far to long to collect firewood. But now it is apparent. I must leave before more harm is done unto this Company. I will go alone.  
The other members of the Fellowship sat near one another and talked amongst themselves. All were worried by Frodo’s long absence, and more so by Boromir’s unexplained one. By now, they had all noticed. Narilvrin fidgeted slightly, wanted to stand. Merry and Pippin had grown bored with their assignment, but not so much that they had abandoned it. Narilvrin wished they would. She desperately wanted to seek out the Ringbearer. She had heard a loud rustling of leaves in the distance, as if there had been a quiet fray. The Elf knew what the cause of this was. Boromir had tried to take the Ring, she assumed sadly. There had been little sound afterwards, none, at least, that had been audible. Narilvrin wanted to make sure that Frodo truly was alright and had come away from his encounter with the Son of the Steward unharmed. If Frodo were to depart their company, Narilvrin wanted him to do so safely and not fleeing. Narilvrin was also angry with herself for she had been aware of Boromir’s disappearance and felt she could have prevented this had she not been so willing to trust in the man of Gondor. But that was not the only thing that concerned him. The evil that he had been dreading had at last found its way to the forest.  
The Elf looked around himself for ways of escape. The tree she leaned against had a low branch and a plan began to grow in his mind.  
“Merry, Pippin...” said Legolas quietly, gaining their attention.  
“Hmm?” Said Pippin, leaning closer.  
“Earlier today, when I was not been rendered immobile, I spied mushrooms near the camp, just thither.” The Elf inclined her head in the direction she meant. The two Hobbits’ faces lit up. Merry narrowed his eyes.  
“You’re not trying to sneak away, are you?” Said Merry questioningly.  
“Why would I do that?” The Elf did not want to lie, so instead she chose her words with care.  
“You were so avid to steal away earlier, I am reluctant to believe you.”  
“How would I ‘steal away’ with a broken rib?” Inquired Narilvrin.  
“True enough,” said Pippin, slightly impatient for he was quite anxious to find the mushrooms, more so seeing as no food had been prepared yet. Merry nodded, though more reluctantly. The two Hobbits ran off in the direction Narilvrin had told.  
And lo and behold, there truly were mushrooms. The Hobbits were immediately occupied. Narilvrin took her chance. Scooping up her bow and sword, she jumped to her feet. Leaping upwards as quickly as she could, she grabbed the branch and swung herself unto it. For a moment she sat, her body unwilling to move further. Aragorn turned swiftly and ran to the base of the tree. Luckily, Narilvrin was just high enough to be out of the Ranger’s reach.  
“Narilvrin!” The Elf grinned, holding a hand over her side. “Get down!”  
Narilvrin shook her head defiantly, and, at last regaining her strength, bounded into the nearest tree, heading off into the direction from which she had seen Frodo go. The leaves flew past her as he rushed to find the Hobbit. If Boromir had done no harm, Narilvrin knew that Frodo had still not escaped all danger. The Uruk-hai had reached the wood. The birds and other creatures of the forest had informed him of such. Frodo must leave the wood unharmed, for he carries with him the fate of Middle-earth upon his small shoulders...  
Below she heard movement. But no, it was not that of a fleeing Hobbit, but rather that of a regretful man. Boromir her beloved was walking beneath, though very slowly indeed. His shoulders were hunched over and he trudged through the leaves with no apparent goal. Narilvrin dropped down behind him, receiving a wave of pain throughout her torso for doing so. Boromir whirled around, his hand upon the hilt of his sword.  
“Where has Frodo gone?” Asked the Elf calmly. Boromir slowly lifted a hand and pointed in the direction from whence he had come.  
“Off into the wood. He has fled...”  
“From what did he flee?”  
“From me. I...I tried to take it from him. I tried to take the Ring.” said Boromir, his eyes full of sorrow and regret.  
“Head back to the others. There will come a time for explanations but it is not now. I will take care of Frodo,” said Narilvrin. I thought it was so...  
“May I suggest that you also head back soon, once you find Frodo that is...Aragorn would not be too happy to see you walking about much less leaping from trees...” said Boromir, monotonously. His voice seemed to be near cracking. Narilvrin did not ask of what had occurred, she would find out soon enough and upon seeing her mate distraught, it urged her the more to get to Frodo.  
“I will be fine. However, you could aid me, if you will. Tell them that the Uruk-hai has entered the wood and will be here soon. Please do not tarry in relaying this. Tell Aragorn what has happened. ” Boromir nodded, dejectedly. Narilvrin gazed at him, grieving silently inside before running swiftly in the direction that she assumed Frodo to be.  
Though the Ring may have given the Hobbit the gift of invisibility, it did not cover his tracks. And Hobbit tracks are easy to distinguish. Narilvrin slowed. Her side hurt dreadfully. The drink Aragorn had forced on her was at last wearing off. Then she heard the drawing of a small sword. Sting.  
Ahead, Narilvrin could see the Halfling holding a glowing blue sword in front of him. The Elf maiden could hear the cause for Sting’s warning off in the distance. The creatures lumbered along so noisily that Narilvrin could track every step they took.  
Frodo now heard them too, though he was unaware of Narilvrin’s presence. Narilvrin nocked an arrow from where she stood. She let the arrow fly.


	13. Of escape down the Anduin, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Frodo felt something whisk past his shoulder, barely rustling the hair at the nape of his neck. The sound of it whistled in his ears. Thud. An arrow lodged itself deep within the Uruk’s thick neck just as it emerged from the safety of the trees. Thud. Another arrow followed its flight. The fowl creature slowly came to its knees before collapsing to the ground completely.  
The Hobbit gasped. He had not known the creatures had grown so close, despite the warning blue glow of Sting, now faded to a dim gleam, though not dissipating entirely. Frodo whirled around quickly, scanning the entire area. Who had saved him? Friend or foe? Then there was a hand upon his shoulder. For fear another of the fowl creatures had snuck up upon him yet again, Frodo desperately thrust his sword behind him, clutching the Ring in one hand  
“Ai!” Said a musical voice, slightly distressed. The Elvish sword struck nothing but air, though Frodo was sure he had felt it connect with cloth. As Frodo had spun, he had done so in such a manner that he lost his footing upon the leaf coated ground. A hand gently lifted the sword from his hand and another swiftly moved to catch hold of the hood of his cloak before he fell. Slowly, dreading that his captor was akin to the rank creature that already lie dead before him, he looked up only to meet bright, glinting eyes. Narilvrin peered down at him, her head cocked to the side quizzically.  
“Narilvrin!!” Panted Frodo, fright leaving him fleetingly. “Why you’re no enemy at all! Alas, I walk through the woods and take little heed of the enemy yet attack my rescuer!” The Elf smiled and released him from her grip.  
“Do not worry, no harm was done,” said Narilvrin handing Sting back to him, hilt first. Frodo took it carefully and placed it back in its sheath.  
“But look down...I’ve torn your shirt.” Narilvrin looked down uninterestedly.  
“So you have... I must compliment you then, you caught me off guard.”  
“As did you...but I hardly think of this as an accomplishment, considering your condition...” The Elf scowled.  
“Has Aragorn gotten such things in your head as well?” Said Narilvrin, fiddling with the torn edges of her jerkin. Frodo smiled as Narilvrin turned to gather her arrows from the felled Uruk-hai. A comfortable silence followed. As comfortable a silence as there could be with Saruman’s Uruk-hai roaming the wood. The Elf wrinkled her nose in disgust as she pulled her arrow free of the dead creature’s flesh. Sliding the two arrows gently into the quiver amongst the others, she turned towards Frodo again.  
“I take it you meant to leave us?” Frodo shifted his gaze away from the Elf.  
“Yes...that was my intent...” Said the Hobbit, almost shamefacedly.  
“And why was it your intent?” Questioned the Elf, her eyes filling with sorrow for she knew already what would be said.  
“Because...Because I fear that the Ring...that it will take hold of you, as it did...Boromir,” said Frodo, trying desperately to focus elsewhere than the Elf’s piercing eyes.  
“Alas! I thought it was so,” exclaimed Narilvrin.  
“I am sorry,” said the Hobbit, staring down at his feet.  
“Do not be. It is a wise and brave decision, one you have made as Ringbearer. Forsooth, I know not what the Ring may have done to our company, although I wish not leave your side for fear of an occurrence such as this. But I also do not wish to become changed and turned against you. Elf though I may be, I am not immune to the effects of the One Ring.”  
Narilvrin walked silently towards the Hobbit, placing a calming hand upon his shoulder, this time receiving no sword as response. Frodo gave her a weak smile. He had hoped to steal away unnoticed, although felt that it would not be so. Regardless, he was glad the Elf was here, for had he not found him, the Ring may very well have gone to Saruman by way of the Uruk-hai Narilvrin had slain.  
“Do you still wish to travel alone?” Inquired the Elf.  
“Yes. It is the least I can do to repay you and Aragorn, as well as the others, who have so faithfully stayed with me thus far. Gandalf once told me that ‘all we have to decide is the time that is given us.’ I have pondered his words...and have decided. This is what I will do with the time given me...I will destroy the One Ring. And I will spare all those that can be spared of the tempting the Ring offers. I have seen its effects on one man, I would that I did not have to see it again.” Narilvrin smiled warmly at the Hobbit. However small he looked, he had taken a burden upon himself that even the great Grey Pilgrim had dared not attempt. And for now, it would appear that he was winning. “Speaking of which...” said Frodo cautiously, “what has become of Boromir?”  
“I know not. I spoke with him briefly whilst I sought you, but did not press far into the matter of the Ring, though I had suspicions of what had occurred. I sent him back to the others and bade him tell Aragorn of what has happened. I have no doubt that they know you are leaving by now.”  
“Oh...I had wished to slip away unseen, but I suppose it is better this way.” Narilvrin nodded her agreement. It was better that the others knew what had become of the Ringbearer instead of wondering in fear of what had come to pass. This way, at least, they knew that Frodo left their company unharmed. There was a stirring amongst the trees. More Uruks had followed in the footsteps of the latter, as both Narilvrin and Frodo had known they would. Narilvrin spun around and drew her bow in one fluid motion, letting two arrows fly at once. But this time she did not stop, but proceeded to shoot thrice more. Three thumps were all the proof she needed that her foes were felled. There was not time to retrieve the arrows, at least not now.  
“I will guide you as far as the boats, and then, as you wish, I will let you take your leave, although I would rather linger by your side, till safer times at least. But, you have set your mind to this and I know I will not be able to deter you of it. I offer you my protection.” The Elf bent low upon one knee to stare the awed Hobbit straight in the eye. “You are sure this is your decision?”  
“Yes, as sure as I will ever be.”  
“Then we will be off,” said Narilvrin, holding her bow ever in the ready. Inclining her head in the direction in which the river lie, she began at a slow jog so that Frodo would be able to keep pace. In truth, her side was aching quite horribly and she wished not strain her side more than was necessary, though she would fight to the very end to insure the Ringbearer’s safe departure. Frodo followed the Elf, taking heed to keep close on her heels. Narilvrin’s bow sang suddenly, as she tilted her head to the side. A black arrow whisked past her cheek, brushing his long hair past her shoulder. Then the assailant tumbling from the bushes, an arrow protruding between his eyes. Frodo watched in silent vexation at the Elven archer, striding tall and gracefully through the trees. He wondered now just how she had planned to make it to the boats alone.  
By now Boromir had indeed reached the others. They had been in a state of concern. Frodo, who had been gone far too long to be occupied only with collecting firewood, had not returned. Nor had Legolas. And the man of Gondor had vanished unexplainably. Three members of the Fellowship had been absent without explanation until Boromir returned. His return had been all but joyous. The Son of the Steward had trudged drearily through the forest back to camp, his footsteps dragging. Aragorn was the first to question him, walking quickly in his direction with only an intense glare as welcome.  
“Where have you been?” Asked the Ranger, very much concerned.  
“I...spoke with Frodo.” Aragorn’s eyes widened. This was the last thing he had wished to hear.  
“And what did you say?” There was a long pause. Boromir looked sadly at his boots, not wishing to meet the Ranger’s gaze.  
“I tried to persuade him to take the road to Minas Tirith....” Aragorn raised a questioning eyebrow.  
“Is that all that you said?” Asked the Ranger, all the more suspicious.  
“I...” Boromir’s voice began to choke, “I tried to take the Ring.” Aragorn scowled loudly. His heart sank nearly to his feet. Legolas had battled with Uruk-hai just that morning; the Ranger had no doubt that they still lingered in the forests, the Elf’s uncharacteristic tenseness had been testament enough. It was the reason Narilvrin had been so avid about leaving, which was certainly not wonted of the elleth, asking to leave a forest.  
“And what of Narilvrin? Have you seen her?” He said, trying to maintain his composure. Though he was sure that Boromir had not intended to take such an action, it had happened nonetheless and it could have dyer consequences. He had been suspicious of the man of Gondor since the very council that had decided upon this whole quest. Aragorn had found his hand grasping the hilt of his sword near the Son of the Steward all too often. Boromir was a good man, but Aragorn had always feared what effects the Ring may have on him.  
“Yes. He was headed off in the direction Frodo went. He told me to tell you that the whole of the creatures he encountered this morning are upon us. He said also that he would take care of Frodo...I think that the Ringbearer intends to leave.” As well he should, thought Aragorn angrily.  
The rest of the Fellowship had heard of all that had taken place. Sam’s face had turned as pale as the white clouds above. The thought that Frodo would leave without him or the rest of the Fellowship was horrible indeed.  
“I promised Gandalf!” He suddenly exclaimed, leaping from where he sat. “ ‘Don’t you lose him, Samwise Gamgee,’ he said...and I don’t mean to.” Without waiting for further explanation, Sam grabbed up his pack and raced into the wood in the direction Boromir had come, his pots and pans clanking as he went. Merry and Pippin were quick to follow, drawing their small swords. They ran off into the woods after both Sam and Frodo.  
“After them,” said Aragorn. The last thing he wished to do was lose sight of the rest of the Hobbits. Now Aragorn too felt the presence of the Uruk-hai drawing far too close. All around it seemed as though they would spring from the bushes and surround them all. He could only hope that Narilvrin had successfully found Frodo. With that, Legolas took off into the woods bow in hand, Gimli, taking out an axe, running as quick as his feet would carry him after the charging Hobbits and Boromir soon came after, swinging his shield across his shoulder. Aragorn was last, taking up the rear lest the Uruk-hai truly decide to attack. His knuckles were white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.


	14. Of ecsape down the Anduin, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Frodo followed after the Elf with some difficulty. Narilvrin’s long strides took five of Frodo’s own, and thus, while the Elf was scarcely jogging, Frodo was hustling just to keep up. As they ran, Frodo could see Narilvrin’s hand move ever so slowly to her side. The Hobbit had nearly forgotten again that Narilvrin was hurt, probably more so every time she drew her bow or took a step. Yet she showed no sign of this, other than occasionally clutching her side and the scarce few times she had done so, it had been in attempted concealment.  
Narilvrin’s eyes were darting everywhere, from the thick trunks of trees to their reaching bows. The Uruk-hai could be hidden anywhere. Every so often, a lone Uruk would appear, but these were easily dispatched by Narilvrin’s bow. If one should choose to show itself, an arrow would be all that greeted it. Whenever the Uruk-hai shot back, Narilvrin was quick to dodge each shot, wary that she blocked the Ringbearer as well.  
The familiar sounds of the Hobbit’s feet behind her ceased and were replaced with a rustling of leaves. Narilvrin spun around quickly. Frodo had fallen, though luckily not because of injury, but merely his own weariness and the aid of a root. The Elf bounded back to the Hobbit as fast, as was possible. Pausing for even a moment would give their assailants time to gain space between them. Something caught the Elf’s attention. Twang. The sound of a bow of Isengard. In desperation, Narilvrin leapt the final distance between herself and the Ringbearer and scarcely made it in time to block Frodo from the arrow. Unfortunately, the means by which she stopped the arrow were in no way particularly elegant, nor comfortable. The black fletched arrow tore threw the flesh of her upper arm, which she had been forced to use as the only available way to shield the Hobbit.  
Gritting her teeth, she landed next to Frodo, a hand planted firmly against the leaf strewn ground. She gave the Halfling a grin before hastily getting to her feet, using a tree to pull herself up. Clenching a fist, the Elf snapped the arrow in half, tossing the black shaft aside, having no time to do anything more. Were she to remove the arrow, the blood would flow freely and she did not have any strength to spare through blood loss. There was no time to dwell on injuries. Frodo had gasped, but Narilvrin had quickly pulled him to his feet and urged him to set off again. That shot was meant for me...thought Frodo, staring with wide eyes at the crimson stain standing out greatly on the dark blue jerkin and growing increasingly as they went.  
At last, Narilvrin had been forced to grasp her arm as she ran, but not once did she slow, save to make sure that Frodo still followed. The Elf’s steps were not as graceful as was habitual, but she proceeded without complaint.  
After what had seemed like ages, they reached the boats. Narilvrin had untied it as fast as was possible, though her fingers, draped with blood, had fumbled unsteadily.  
“Frodo, come.” Said the Elf, beckoning for him to enter the boat. Uneasily, Frodo clamored into the Elven boat, trying as hard as was possible not to rock the boat too dangerously. Narilvrin hurriedly ripped a pouch from her waist along with her canteen of water. Handing them to Frodo, she gave him a grin.  
“Lembas. You will need it on your journey.” Frodo took it reluctantly, but gratefully nevertheless.  
“Hannon lle,” said Frodo in response. Narilvrin smiled broadly.  
“I must admit...I was worried when Elrond appointed such a small being for such an immense task, but I know now that there was naught to worry about. Hobbits are indeed a wondrous folk. Namárië, Frodo, take care of yourself...I look forward to our next meeting.” And with that, Narilvrin pushed the boat into the Anduin. “I will be protecting you from the banks.” Yelled Narilvrin after him, lifting her bow.  
“Namárië...” Said Frodo, slowly taking up the oar from the bottom of the boat. As he was about to enter the current of the Anduin, there was a clattering of pots and pans in the distance. Narilvrin turned suddenly, a spreading grin across her face despite the arrow wound upon her arm. Frodo turned too, just in time to see a familiar face racing through the trees and towards the bank. The Ringbearer plunged the oar into the bottom of the bank; digging deep into the riverbed and slowing the boat to get a clearer glimpse of who it was that raced towards him. A somewhat paunchy Hobbit, running as fast as he could and waving his arms as to attract Frodo’s attention.  
“Eglant no pheriannath...” whispered the Elf.

Translations:  
Hannon lle = Thank you.  
Namárië = Goodbye/farewell  
Eglant no pheriannath. = Praised be Halflings...


	15. Of an Elf's near death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Racing noisily along, the ever-faithful Samwise Gamgee rushed to meet Frodo at the river bank, wishing not to be left behind. The large feet of the gardener did not stop once reaching the water’s edge, though, but instead charged directly in, splashing water this way and that as he went. The Hobbit waded deeper and deeper into the icy water. This was not a wise decision, for one so short, especially when said one cannot swim. With a look of alarm, Frodo yelled for Sam to turn back, but he was determined and continued onwards despite the rising water level around him. Desperately, Frodo began to steer the boat towards his friend, though prevailing very little in making much progress. The current of the Anduin was a difficult thing for the Halfling to battle, seeing as he was the size of a mere child and the length of the very oar being used was longer than himself entirely. The water was now barely beneath Sam’s chin. The river threatened to swallow him up. And then, without warning, it did. The river overcame Samwise and his head became submerged with a last gasp for breath. A hand appeared above the surface, flailing about for something to grab.  
All around him the sunlight seemed to come in shafts from above, piercing the clear, yet dark, water of the Great River. He could barely hear muffled voices above for the cold water rendered his eyes incapable of seeing anything but the disfigured shape of a nearing boat. Bubbles of precious air were escaping his lips as he struggled to swim. The water had taken a sudden depth to it, and the next thing Sam had known, he had plunged beneath it. His pack weighted him down severely, but he dared not remove it...were he to journey with Frodo, the supplies it contained would be needed. Now you have done it, Samwise Gamgee! Gone and sunk to the bottom of the river! Some good you’ve done to Mister Frodo...some good indeed! Thought the Hobbit hopelessly, as his air supply finally depleted.  
And suddenly he heard a loud splash nearby, the sound traveling quickly underwater. Someone grabbed him by the arm firmly. Looking around, wondering who it was that had plunged in after him, Sam could see the long, thin outline of a person. Someone looked down at him from above. He had thought at first that Frodo was the one pulling him upwards, but no, this person was far too tall to be a Hobbit.  
And then his head was above water again. He gasped, taking in the sweet air sharply. Never before had he been so happy to simply breath. Frodo, having finally reached the place where Sam had disappeared, breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Sam turned his head, still spluttering somewhat, to come face to face with Narilvrin, who looked extremely distressed and utterly drenched, her flame red hair spread atop the water around her. The river had become just deep enough that the Elf could not reach the bottom and so she now treaded the water with a pained look while still keeping a tight hold on the Hobbit.  
“Narilvrin!! What are you doing here!?” Exclaimed Samwise, mildly confused. He had been in such a rush to reach Frodo that he had run right past the Elf without taking notice.  
“Never mind what he is doing here! You should be thanking him! After all, he dove straight in after you...! Sam, whatever were you thinking, you know you cannot swim!?” Sam’s eyes widened.  
“Narilvrin, ma’am...well, thank you!! I was in such a rush...the thought of swimming slipped my mind.” Said the embarrassed Halfling, blushing deeply. Narilvrin smiled weakly in response.  
“Are you alright, Sam?” The Elf’s voice was soft and hardly audible, save to those who were very close. Sam nodded vigorously.  
“Yes...I am now, thanks to you, sir. But if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look so well yourself. Maybe should be asking you if you’re alright?” Narilvrin closed her eyes, pressing them firmly shut with a shake of her head.  
“I am fine...merely short of breath...” panted the Elf.  
“As well you should be!!” Cried Frodo suddenly, “the water is stained red around you!”  
And so it was. Narilvrin looked down, seeing crimson blood mixing with the clear water that flowed around her. The wound on her arm stung horribly as the icy water moved across it, and her thigh as well as side throbbed incessantly. Indeed, it was taking all her strength to keep herself, as well as the Hobbit, afloat. Seeing Narilvrin’s struggle, Frodo began to pull Sam into the boat, relieving the Elf of her added burden. Sam flopped into the boat, dripping wet from head to furry foot. He grabbed the sides quickly for he was always uneasy within boats, Elf wrought or not.  
“Tis nothing...” Narilvrin’s words were interrupted as a black arrow, whistling through the air, dove into the river only inches from her shoulder. Sam and Frodo gasped as more arrows assailed them from the trees, thumping loudly against the wooden boat as the Hobbits drew their hands back in surprise. None had direct blows, though one did fly far too close for comfort, lodging itself in Sam’s pack, having struck a pot and gone no further. “You must leave!” Said the Elf urgently. Sam’s arrival, however heartwarming his attempt to stay with Frodo had been, had caused delay; delay that was anything but needed.  
“I could not live with myself were I to leave you here in such a condition!” Cried Frodo as Narilvrin clutched the side of the boat.  
“You must. You will not receive another chance...the enemy is upon us!” Narilvrin said unwaveringly, though sparing quick glances to the trees around them, hoping that the arrows would not come again, at least until the Hobbits were well on their way and out of the Uruk-hai archers’ range.  
“But...!”  
“Frodo, namárië, and Sam too...both of you must keep low in the boats, do not let yourselves be seen...” Narilvrin bowed her head slightly to each in goodbye. “May the Valar be with you,” said the Elf, clutching the boat even tighter before she pushed it away with all the strength she could muster. A surge of pain spread through her arm, but it mattered not, her plan had worked. The small boat entered the current and began to very slowly drift away. Frodo scampered to the back of the boat, trying without prevail to stop their departure by plunging the oar into the river bottom. But, by now, the water had grown too deep, and it did nothing to stop them. Frodo could only helplessly watch as Narilvrin’s form grew smaller and smaller as they floated away.  
Narilvrin made her way out of the water with all the speed that was possible. The river seemed to flow not with water but a heavier substance, which seemed almost to drag her downwards. But Narilvrin was determined. Saruman’s archers were still in the woods, no doubt tracking the Ringbearer. It was necessary that they be slain with all swiftness. And so she swam until she could reach the bottom of the river, after which she sprinted as much as her injuries would allow. Upon leaving the water, she scooped up his bow, a sharp pain ravaging her arm, but she continued nonetheless. Nocking an arrow, she concentrated. Far in the distance she could hear the air as it left the fowl creatures’ nostrils, she could hear as they stamped their feet impatiently...she could hear the creak of a bow as it was drawn. With lightening reflexes, she let the arrow fly. It flitted swiftly across the wide Anduin and entered the trees, missing each trunk. A pained shriek informed him that it had successfully reached its target. All the while Narilvrin watched the creature Gollum float nearly unnoticed behind the boat. Narilvrin would not shoot him, for she respected Gandalf’s words that the creature had some part yet to play. What it was, the Elf could not guess.  
Prying herself from Gollum, Narilvrin looked further down the river to insure that neither of the Hobbits had been harmed and was deeply relieved to discover that they were not. Frodo had taken up the oar once more, and though he looked back in the Elf’s direction sadly, he continued nevertheless, knowing the Elf’s words to be true.  
“Thank you, Narilvrin...” whispered Frodo to himself.  
“What was that, mister Frodo?” Asked Sam curiously.  
“Oh...it is just that...I feel horrible about this...about leaving Narilvrin in such a way. I fear for her, Sam. She is injured, and she is injured because of me! She received that wound while blocking me from an arrow! Yet she disregarded her own pain to let us escape...she is putting his very life at stake for us.” Sam looked down, eyes focused on the bottom of the boat.  
“Then...mister Frodo...we must not fail. I think...I think that she must have much faith in this quest to do such a thing; it would be a shame to make her efforts in vain. Don’t you think, mister Frodo?”  
“I suppose.”  
Frodo thought of all he had said to the Elf and wondered what he thought of Sam coming along. It had not been planned, but rather necessary for no time could be spared. Narilvrin had strived hard to guide the Hobbit to the river, where lay his departure, and Frodo could not have forsaken his efforts, especially when another chance to escape the coming battle would not arise. He pondered too whether the Elf had taken Frodo’s apparent approval of Sam’s companionship as somewhat of an insult. To refuse to take the Elf, but take a gardener? Ah, but Narilvrin would understand. Though the Elf was very often silent, when she thought strongly about one thing or another, she was not one to conceal her thoughts. In any case, there had been no time for Narilvrin to haul the Hobbit back to the riverbank, and Frodo doubted the Elf had yet the strength. Pale had been the color of the Elf’s face. Elements had very little physical effect on Elves, and so Frodo doubted it was the frigid temperature of the water that had caused her to lose the vermilion in her cheeks that was otherwise present. It had been pain that caused the Elf’s brow to furrow. Alas, Frodo could do nothing against the current but let it take him where it would, save to Rauros.  
All about shrieks of the dying Uruk-hai could be heard. From afar, Frodo could scarcely see the arrows swiftly leaving Narilvrin’s bow and striking down the fowl archers across and around the bank. An arrow’s path that had been aimed directly for the Ringbearer had been intercepted by one of the Elf’s own, in midair from nearly forty paces away. Both Hobbits gazed back in awe as the Elf defended them until she drifted out of sight. And even then, they felt sure that the Elf’s arrows still flew for not once were they struck by any foe as they rowed away down the Great Anduin.  
Long was the Ringbearer still in sight for Narilvrin, and so, however painful it was, she continued to rain arrows upon any enemy spotted. Each time she drew the bow to its fullest and took comfort in the sweet plucking sound that the bowstring sang. Until, that is, she reached over her shoulder to her quiver only to grasp nothing more than air. Searching desperately, Narilvrin realized her arrows had nearly been spent. Six still remained, and she pledged to use these sparingly, if at all. She sighed outwardly at the thought of attempting to retrieve each and every one.  
With a shake of her head, she turned to the trees, knowing she had done all that could be done to ensure Frodo’s safe departure. Returning to the others was the best option now, though he dreaded the Ranger’s reactions to the new injuries to add to the list. It is not as though any injuries recently obtained have been serious...but only that they become serious for Aragorn’s mind’s eye...he is downright amok when it comes to such things!  
Upon reaching the campsite, there was no one to be found. The camp appeared to be deserted, for possessions were strewn about. Those who had been there earlier had left in a hurry, no doubt in search of the Ringbearer. Narilvrin hoped they had encountered none of the creatures that she had. And so again she set off into the woods in search of her companions. Little companionship did she find, but battle was plentiful. No sooner had she found the camp did more Uruk-hai arrive from the shrubbery, and now Narilvrin was glad that no others of the Fellowship were around. Instinctively, Narilvrin brought her hand over her shoulder to reach for an arrow, but this time she recoiled her hand. Not only was it painful, but with so few left, she could not afford to use them so leisurely. And so, instead, she drew her curved sword that glowed crimson, the sound of ringing metal piercing the air as she did so, the sunlight dancing across the smooth metal surface.  
The five Uruk-hai ran towards her, their own weapons held high above their heads as they came. To Narilvrin’s dismay, this time all came at once, which would make situations all the worse. Had she more arrows, there would be little difficulty in disposing of the creatures from afar, with great speed as well. But even if she had more arrows, it would do no good to have them and be rendered unable to shoot them. A steady flow of blood had slowly dripped down her arm, staining the once blue cloth a dark red. Not only that, but the broken rib was proving to be troublesome, and even more so aggravating.  
There was a clash of metal as she locked weapons with the nearest of the lot. This time she had been more prepared for the tremendous amount of power behind the blow, but it still shook her arm to the very bone, from finger to shoulder. Another Uruk came at her from the side. Narilvrin then lashed out with her long knife, cutting deep into the flesh of the creature. She was now caught in an awkward position, both arms spread in opposite directions, and it was even worse seeing as a third Uruk-hai had decided to use these to his advantage, for Narilvrin’s chest and torso were left utterly unguarded. The Uruk-hai brought forth a giant fist directly to the Elf’s already pained side, forcing her to crumple backwards. Narilvrin swiftly jerked both up and down, then brought them side ways in opposite to deal fatal blows to two of her assailants, but the damage had been done. The Uruk-hai had struck her side, her most vulnerable place at the time, and Narilvrin could feel nausea descending upon her as her legs gave way beneath her. Collapsing to the ground, she could do nothing more than block the blows dealt towards her with failing arms. Three Uruk-hai still hovered above her, and she had only two arms with which to defend.  
Narilvrin glared upwards at the Uruk-hai who had struck her, now raising his rusty sword high above his head. With a grin, he let it fall towards the seemingly helpless Elf. But Narilvrin took her chance and lashed out with a foot, connecting with first the shin of the attacker and then just where the armor connected, leaving it thin and weak there. The Uruk-hai looked downwards with a crooked grin, the kicks having caused no pain. Narilvrin clenched her teeth as she groped for another solution. And then a solution was shockingly unneeded, for her foe fell forward upon her, quite dead, his sword falling from his fowl hand whilst he fell. As Narilvrin looked around, she spied the remaining two that had been in the company of five lying dead as well, a tall silver haired elf with bright blue eyes hovered over them. Narilvrin’s bright orbs widened.  
“Anglin!”  
They nodded to her and bending down came nearly eye to eye with the Elf, for Narilvrin still sat upon her knees, the knife and sword in each hand. In all my years I never thought I would see the day when a wolf saved an Elf...I do not suppose I will ever live this down...  
“Thank you my good friend.” Narilvrin grinned, struggling to sit up not only because of her side, but because of the immense weight of the corpse that lay across her.  
“Is that so?” Said Anglin. “Then I think you will become good friends with that stinking corpse...for I would say you lack the strength to move it.” The elf grinned broadly and gazed down mockingly at the Elf.

After discovering that the Elf was indeed quite helpless, Anglin took a moment to merely mock Narilvrin before aiding in removing the putrid corpse of the slain Uruk-hai. He had simply nudged it with his hand, whilst Narilvrin had become increasingly irritated with the situation, particularly when she began to lose feeling in both legs. She had then tried to struggle herself free on her own, only succeeding in displacing the Uruk’s helmet. Anglin finally rolled the dead weight from off the Elf with a small chuckle. Narilvrin rose to her feet stiffly yet hastily. Narilvrin wiped her knife and sword across her leggings, the black blood smearing from the blades to the cloth leaving the metal with a semi-clean sheen. Narilvrin winced as she did so. A cringe spread across Anglin’s face for he had seen the source of the Elf’s discomfort. Half of an arrow still protruded from her shoulder.  
“How did you go about getting that?” Asked Anglin, pointing towards Narilvrin’s shoulder. The Elf maiden frowned, looking at the broken shaft.  
“I...” Narilvrin pondered whether or not she should explain the manner of Frodo’s departure or not, but decided that it was important the entire Fellowship knew the Ringbearer had truly departed their company. “I acquired it whilst I guided Frodo to the boats. He has left us, as has his good friend Samwise.”  
“So they are gone, then,” said the Elf solemnly. He then shook his head. “You could not have had so little time that you could not remove a single arrow?”  
“The Uruk-hai are prowling these woods everywhere, of course I had no time to stop.” Anglin shook his head again, approaching Narilvrin to examine the wound more closely. She cocked her head to one side. “What are you doing?” The Elf clasped a hand firmly around the base of the arrow, sending a wave of pain through the Elf’s shoulder, and, before Narilvrin could properly react, yanked the arrow out. Narilvrin cried out at the sudden pain for she had not expected the Dwarf to make such a bold move.  
“Raugo edhel...” Narilvrin cursed under her breath, clutching her shoulder gingerly. Blood seeped through her fingers and trickled slowly down her arm, sliding quickly off the leather arm guard to the ground. Narilvrin glared sternly at the Elf.  
“No need to glower at me like that, it needed to come out, better sooner than later, I say. And you’d best get that bound.” Anglin nodded towards Narilvrin’s now crimson shoulder.  
“Yes, I know,” was the angrily voiced reply. Her whole shoulder felt as though it were ablaze and all she wanted to do for the moment was sit. Not only that, but her side felt absolutely horrible. Although elves healed extraordinarily fast in comparison to mortals, they still needed a considerable amount of time, at least for broken bones. And it had only been that very morn that it had been broken. Her thigh was healing nicely, as was the cut she had received on her right shoulder from the Uruk-hai blades. Narilvrin fingered her rib tenderly, confirming that the blow had done only minimal damage, aside from absorbing the remainder of her strength. She pushed the rib cautiously into place with a slight cringe. With that, she ripped a small strip from the sleeve of her silken shirt and wrapped it tightly around the arrow wound.  
“Is that enough?” Asked the Elf, incredulously as Narilvrin wiped her hands on her leggings.  
“When time will permit, I may do more,” she replied with a nod. Narilvrin struggled to get to her feet and was at last forced to accept the aid of Anglin’s outstretched hand. “Where are the others?” Asked the Elf maiden curiously, brushing debris from her apparel.  
“The Hobbits have gone off after the Ringbearer and Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli after them,” Anglin stated matter-of-factly.  
“Indeed,” said Narilvrin, unknowingly rubbing the bound wound. “Their searching for the Ringbearer will be a fruitless effort...But I see you have fared well, at least.” Anglin nodded.  
“It’s only a pity that my fray ended so shortly after beginning. This was the first I’ve come across an engagement, and you’re lucky I did, too. The hides of Uruks are not so thick as you lead me to believe.”  
“I am sure...” answered the Elf maiden sarcastically. “Now, in which direction do you propose we go?”  
“I know not...” began Anglin but what he wished to say went unsaid for the loud blasting of a horn sounded from afar. “Boromir!” Exclaimed the Elf.  
“Come, Anglin, we must go now.” Narilvrin, though her legs felt unsteady, dashed in the direction wherefrom the sound had come. The other Elf agreed and tore off at the Elf’s heels. Anglin thought it strange that he was able to keep up as well as he was, being only a length behind. She may hide it, buts he is hurt... speculated the Elf silently.  
The horn had been a faint sound in the distance, but entirely recognizable. Trees passed by in a flourish of brown and green. Narilvrin was only barely aware of her friend’s light footsteps trailing behind rearmost her. Her main focus was to seek out Boromir. The man’s fight must have been desperate indeed for him to call for aid, Narilvrin knew, but she too had to repay her beloved. The Son of the Steward was a dignified man, it was evident in his very demeanor.  
“Slow your pace Narilvrin!” Shouted Anglin. The request was because Anglin had spied the Elf’s hand rise to her side a couple of times.  
“Master Anglin, we have not the time,” said Narilvrin, turning her head only slightly to reveal a furrowed brow. “You know what I must do now, and I mustn’t stop now.” Anglin frowned but continued onward nonetheless. So keen were the Elf’s ears that she could hear the barely audible crackle of leaves beneath the foes that lie forrader. Then she heard a more discouraging sound...the clashing of metal. A rise in the land was blocking Narilvrin’s view of the source of the fray. Hieing onward, she bounded to the top of the rise, narrowly missing the carcasses of two Uruks. Below lay Boromir fending off Uruks trying to capture Merry and Pippin, who helped also, the Man of Gondor in his midst. A strange rage suddenly overtook Narilvrin as she espied the largest Uruk, no doubt the leader, stringing a bow towards Boromir’s heart. Charging with Anglin beside her, she drew her sword once more despite the pain flaring throughout her, as the Elf assaulted the foes coming for Boromir, making her way to him with Anglin at her side. Everything seemed to slow as Narilvrin saw the three arrows meant for Boromir aimed at him at once and as she saw the Uruk release the arrow, she bounded in front pushing him out of harm’s way and took the three arrows at once, the impact knocking the breath from her. Anglin, seeing this yelled in anger and charged the one, who shot the arrows, after a few blows to his foe, the Elf finally decapitated the Uruk, its black blood smeared across his blade for vengeance.

The world seemed to swirl around as Narilvrin’s sight faded, only to remember the tall form of Boromir near her and Aragorn with Legolas and Gimli disposing of the last enemies; whatever of the Hobbits she did not know, but hearing their cries in the distance told her of something else and Anglin was to be seen with the other three. The Elf maiden fell to the Earth the sound barely audible and cried out in pain as the wounds closed opened again upon impact into the leaf-filled forest floor, knowing that there was more blood loss than usual from the fall.

Legolas saw the form of a decapitated Uruk, and very near him lay the form of another, fallen upon the ground, their flame red hair spread about them. Boromir knelt near this one, and it appeared to Legolas that the man had not been dealt more than minor cuts and bruises from whatever he had faced moments ago. Also another Elf was with him, and he had long bright silver hair and blue eyes, someone whom he had seen before.  
“Narilvrin?” Whispered Legolas, taking a single step forward, his eyebrows creasing in grief. He watched with sadness and even mild curiosity, for it was not oft than an immortal bared witness to near death, as Boromir kissed the Elf’s forehead and saying things to her still form. The Elf Archer also realized with horror that the crimson red substance had come from previous wounds she had received not too long ago and flowed freely onto the forest floor. “They will watch for her from Taniquetil…but she will never return,” murmured Anglin solemnly, a tear escaping his blue eyes to fall upon Narilvrin’s cheek, causing her to stir slightly; she opened her vivid emerald-gold eyes slightly gazing about her. All surrounding her sighed in relief, thinking they had lost their beloved companion. “My good friends, I cannot stay here…I must leave this world if I am not healed soon enough…” Narilvrin said, stopped by Anglin, then said to the rest. “I will take it upon myself to bring Narilvrin into Imladris, the rest of you must go now, for time is fleeting away.” They nodded their heads, not bothering to question of whom he was or how he was going to get to Imladris, but knew that Narilvrin was in good protection, and they started off, each saying a rich farewell to the wounded Elf maiden. For good and for a bad cause hand in hand, he thought, remembering her pained eyes, and followed after the other three out into the sun’s light traveling Westward away from the sun’s face. To Anglin came a bay coloured horse and mounted it, placing Narilvrin in front of him, then rode Northward, the elleth’s last glance Westward as she brushed a hand over her stomach and sung a barely inaudible song as was wont to most elves in a time of grief.  
May it be an evening star  
Shines down upon you  
May it be when darkness falls  
Your heart will be true  
You walk a lonely road  
Oh! How far you are from home

Mornië utúlië, Darkness has come  
Believe and you will find your way  
Mornië alantië, Darkness has fallen  
A promise lives within you now

May it be the shadow's call  
Will fly away  
May it be your journey on  
To light the day  
When the night is overcome  
You may rise to find the sun

Mornië utúlië, Darkness has come  
Believe and you will find your way

Mornië alantië Darkness has fallen  
A promise lives within you now

A promise lives within you now

Translations:  
Raugo edhel = Demon (of an) Elf


	16. Epilouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

Am mellon nín Fëanormiril adh Rîn Boromir  
(For my friend Fëanormiril for Remembrance of Voronmir)

Io anann telich enni, lhossol ne fuin  
Ir minuial thiant haeron, nin tennich in elin  
Long ago you came to me, whispering in the night  
When dawn seemed far away, you showed me the stars

Gobadannem idh raid e-daur, gohogannem vîl  
Ónel enni rovail adh reviad, am mathad i nîr e-geil  
We walked together the forest paths, drank together of love  
You gave me wings to fly, to touch the face of the stars  
Hin lín tirir nan Aear, cirnich tharaearon  
Si oer nín thian arnediad… Ui ingach o nin?  
Your eyes looked towards the Sea, you sailed across the ocean  
Now my days seem endless… Do you ever think of me?

Taur vorn pelia os-nin, idh raid bain gwethui  
Ú-belin radad pen-le, im long na gaul ‘onui  
The dark forest spreads around me, the paths are all shadowy  
I cannot find a way without you, I am heavy with a stony burden

Estel drengen o guren, si gwathren go ereth  
Thuio guil min faer charn nín, bodo i esgal hen e-naeth  
Hope has fled from my heart, now dimmed with loneliness  
Breathe life into my wounded soul, banish this veil of sadness

Gûr lín anirn i Aear, gwannech tharaearon  
Erui môr nín thian arnediad… Uireb renich nin?  
Reno nin… Le renin…  
Your heart desired the Sea, you departed across the ocean  
Alone, my nights seem endless… Do you forever remember me? Remember me… I remember thee…

A figure sat encased in firelight lost in their thoughts as a lone tear cascaded down their fair face of pale silvery-white. It came to land upon their hand that had awoken them from some kind of reverie. They glanced down and espied the ring they had dearly loved so, made of mithril and encrusted diamonds with a grey blue stone in between. Long ago they had given this ring a name ‘Ilúvilissë Yáréacorma…Olden ring spirit of everything’ they thought gazing at its fading glow, and felt a stab of regret and grief at the past occurrences of their life. Shaking from their head of such thoughts, they turned towards the flickering flames and were entranced by it, their emerald green flecked gold eyes glinting from it. A sound behind them caused the grieved figure to stir and gazed up into a fair face with silver hair and bright blue eyes, and beside them was a flame red-haired and light grey-eyed Elf. The two Elves nodded in recognition and one put their hand upon the figure’s shoulder.  
“i telda ciryat na vanyarato londello, herinya, en né avaquétima Endórë, nan i quellë Eldar né arát. Elyë hilyanme númenenna ar yétanna i amannórë yáratalla, ar i hehta nor néthella.”  
(“The last ships are to depart soon from the haven, my Lady, there is nothing that need not be said of Endor, but the fading of Elves is eminent. Thou must follow us Westward and look upon the Blessed Land of your Ancient Fathers, and forsake the land of your youth.”)

The Lady suddenly stood striding to the nearby window and hearing laughter was somewhat relieved of what is to be now. Turning to them with a glint in her eyes, which appeared to be tears, she softly replied. “Then it is to be a bitter parting all the more so from my land of birth. For I had come to love Middle-Earth, but I have always desired to look upon the lands of my fathers, and if it is to be so, then I and my beloved children will go.”

Therefore, it came to be that after a year of grieving over Boromir her husband Fëamiril Narilvrin gathered her children and relatives and gained leave of the King and Queen of Gondor and departed to Mithlond Northward; many sad partings were to be there and would always be remembered. Then, with one last look upon Endor her beloved Earthly home, the last prominent of the Elves passed into the West, to never return again to see the lands of their birth lest should the Arda be remade. It rather seemed to Fëamiril that she felt and saw a spirit float past her and within it she saw the heart and mind of her forefather Maglor Cánafinwë, and she was indeed happy to see him set free from Exile and the Curse. Now at the shores of Aman, those on the ship gazed on Westward and they saw a multitude of people awaiting them, but Fëamiril saw her father, mother, other brothers, grandfathers, and the likes of them. Casting aside her mantle of grief, she eagerly embraced joy and happiness, but it could not forsake the loss of her beloved husband. So, lying down in the Gardens of Estë beneath the moonlight, she passed away of grief and anguish, and her likes were never seen again in Arda as it had been with Fëanor her forefather. Moreover, coming to the Halls of Mandos, she discovered and met her forefathers whom had fought in many wars known, and was now satisfied with her life, awaiting for the Dagor Dagorath the Last Battle.


	17. Notes to Dagnir Ellethwen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of visions can be conjured to obscure ones fate when they choose what path of destiny and love to tread.

1\. Family Tree of Fëanorian Descendants

Finwë wedded Míriel Serindë in Aman = Fëanor is born 1179 Y.T.

Fëanor wedded Nerdanel daughter of Mahtan and sister of Curudan around 1190 Y.T.  
Nelyafinwë (Maedhros), Cánafinwë (Maglor), Turcafinwë (Celegorm), Morifinwë (Caranthir), Curufinwë (Curufin), Pityafinwë (Amrod), and Telufinwë (Amras); their sons are born during the Year of the Trees.

Erémo (one of steel) and Mórvanessë (dark beauty) awoke in Cuiviénen 1050 Y.T.  
Erémo is an Aulendur, and is a very good friend to Mahtan; he is also very good in the forging of steel  
Their children were Erécáno (herald or commander of steel), Aicaneren (sharp steel), and Morwinyon (named after the star Morwinyon, meaning the glint at dusk or night).

Erécáno wedded Lindelëa (melodious) one of the daughters of Nénwë (one of water), a Telerin Shipwright that resided in Alqualondë and is a Great Lord of kin (Nénwë’s nephew is from one of Olwë’s sons) beside Olwë.  
Nindéwen (slender maiden) was born not too long after her parent’s marriage, and was their eldest child out of four. As the name Erécáno might imply, he is a younger version of his father Erémo, with the same steel hued hair and eyes and the same temperament.

Aicaneren did not wed and stayed in Aman with his father and mother. His name describes his eyes that were grey as steel but glinted amongst any kind of lighting.

Morwinyon was noted for his dark eyes, for when after the waning of Laurelin and into the waxing of Telperion, his eyes would glint as if in starlight when the Elves first awoke in Cuiviénen. He wedded Nandellë (player of the harp) of the Noldor and had two daughters named Culaureä (golden red daylight) and Morilaureä (dark shadow light).

Cánafinwë in his youth had wedded Nindéwen = Mahturufinwë (a Finwë able to hold the power of mastery and command) and Narifinwë (flame of Finwë) were born in Aman.

Tárlindenwë (tall one of songs), the Vanyarin minstrel and good friend to Ingwë, had wed Lalwen the second daughter of Finwë and Indis. He became father to Laurfindel (Glorfindel; tresses of gold), Antaronwë (person of high descendants), and Cálinría (crowned with garland of light). Tárlindenwë known for his most uncanny ability to break into a song whether it be mournful or mirthful; the Vanya was mostly known as Lindenwë.

Mahturufinwë then weds Cálinría = Their children Curunarfinwë (skillful flame of Finwë), Ambarofinwë (uprising Finwë), Narindofinwë (Finwë with a temperament of flame), Tyelfinwë (hasty Finwë), Umbarfinwë (fated Finwë), and Fëanormiril (shining jewel of Fëanor) were born in Middle Earth.

Curunarfinwë (Curulachfin), born 526 F.A. in Menegroth. Later wed Galadnen (glittering river water), the daughter of Oropher, born late around 6 S.A.; their son and only child Angmir (jewel of steel) is born in 1698 S.A. Curunarfinwë is one of his father’s children to stay with his sister Fëamiril in Endor, as did his wife and son.

Erenmírë (Angmir), born 1698 S.A. in Imladris. Remaining unwed, he had desired to stay amongst Men with his aunt Fëamiril until she and her children departed over the sea and he too followed.

Ambarofinwë (Amfin), born 2 S.A. in Lindon. He remained unwedded and departed over the sea to Valinor in September 29, 3021 T.A.

Narindofinwë (Lachindfin), born 55 S.A. in Lindon. He had wed a Silvan Elf of Lorien named Ningloriel (maiden of a wild lily), a descendant of the Nandorin or Laiquendi of Ossiriand. Their children were twins: Malgildin (golden glint, Laurintil) and Ithildin (silver glint, Telperintil); they were born in 1698 S.A. With his wife and sons, they departed over the sea in September 29, 3021 T.A.

Tyelfinwë (Celegfin), born 102 S.A. in Lindon. Remained unwed, and traveled over Belegaer to Valinor in September 29, 3021 T.A.

Umbarfinwë (Amarthfin), born 102 S.A. in Lindon. Like his elder twin brother, he too remained unwed and stayed with his elder brother and younger sister in Endor. He later traversed with his sister and her children over the sea.

Fëamiril (Faersílamir), born 200 S.A. in Lindon. The Elfin maiden had taken the pseudonym Narilvrin and Eldawingil, because her name in Sindarin did not appeal to her. She became the beloved of Boromir II of Gondor, whom, around 3019 T.A. she did wed a few months before the birth of their first child. A number that was afterwards revered amongst both Eldar and Edain was fourteen, for they had twelve children, each with much elvish blood in their veins. It was because of their great love along with youth and vitality that they were able to produce many children, but also of the blessings of Ilúvatar. Within a year after the passing of her husband, Fëamiril with her Endorian relatives

Their sons names were Eärendilyon (Aeseronion, son of Eärendil), Fëalaranyan (Faerthelion, spirit that does not stray), Maitiyon (Maedhion, shapely son), Nelyacáno (Neldegon, third commander), Palanmo (Palanmin, one who travels far and wide), Artalinwë (Arglirmin, noble one of song) and Artafinwë (Arcurumin, noble one of skill) his younger twin brother.

The names of their daughters born after their seven sons were Undómerien (Tinuriena, crowned with twilight), her twin sister Lómerien (Tinurien, crowned with twilight), Elenolótë (Gwalothgil, star blossom), Rómenmírë (Amrunmir, east jewel), and Melyisilmë (Melcúroncal, dear moonlight).

Eärendilyon: eldest child, born 3019 T.A. Possesses straight silvery-golden hair of descent from the Vanyar and Teleri and has bright green eyes surrounded by skin the same hue of his hair. He has inherited little of Noldorin and Human blood in appearance, but it shows in his temperament. Eärendilyon is the only child of Elves and Men to have inherited this strange coloring of hair and skin. Wears clothing that is white, silver or gold.

Fëalaranyan: second child, born 1 F.A. Possesses straight dark red hair with glints of dark gold from his forefather Mahtan and vermilion tinted skin, and has dark grey eyes. Unlike his eldest brother, he has most of Noldorin and Human blood in him. Wears clothing that is dark green or midnight blue and a copper circlet.

Maitiyon: third child, born 4 F.A. Possesses straight flame red hair like his mother and vermilion tinted skin, also with grey-green eyes like his father. He has more of Noldorin, Telerin, and Human inheritance than his elder brothers. Wears clothing that has any dark shade of green or bright silver.

Nelyacáno: fourth child, born 10 F.A. Possesses wavy dark golden intermixed with pale and medium colored gold hair from his father and has blue-grey eyes, with skin the hue of luminescent gold; he is considered almost opposite of his eldest brother Eärendilyon. Has most of Vanyarin and Human blood in him, and wears clothing that is midnight blue, white, or gold.

Palanmo: fifth child, born 13 F.A. Possesses the straight and robust silver hair of the noble Telerin of kin to Olwë but has silver tinted skin and has bright blue eyes; he is said to resemble his kinsman Celeborn in appearance and manner. Inherits most of Telerin blood but very little of Vanyarin, Noldorin, or Human descent. Wears clothing that is mostly grey or silver-white.

Artalinwë: sixth child and elder twin brother to Artafinwë, born 20 F.A. Possesses wavy dark red hair with glints of dark gold from the forefather Mahtan, also having skin faintly tinted with silver and bright grey eyes. Has mostly of Noldorin heritage from Fëanor’s blood, but also a little of Telerin blood. Wears clothing that has lighter shades to counter his dark hair.

Artafinwë: seventh child and younger twin brother to Artalinwë, born 20 F.A. Possesses wavy dark red hair with glints of dark gold from his forefather Mahtan, also having skin faintly tinted with silver and bright grey eyes. Like his elder twin, he mostly has Noldorin heritage from Fëanor but a little of Telerin blood. Wears clothing with lighter shades and colours to counter his dark hair.

Undómerien: eighth child and elder twin to Lómerien, born 23 F.A. during Midsummer’s Eve. As her name might suggest, she possesses curly dark hair and dark brown eyes with flecks of gold from both her mother and foremother Mórvanessë, and has vermilion tinted skin. Inherits most of Noldorin blood and very little of anything else. Wears clothing that is blue of any shade and white.

Lómerien: ninth child and younger twin to Undómerien, born 23 F.A. during Midsummer’s Eve. She possesses curly dark hair and dark brown eyes with flecks of gold like her elder twin, and has vermilion tinted skin. Inherits most of Noldorin Blood and very little of anything else. Wears clothing that is blue of any shade and white.

Elenolótë: tenth child, born 28 F.A. Possesses wavy hair the hue of polished steel from her forefather Erémo and surrounds a face tinted with pale gold and grey eyes. Mostly has Noldorin and Telerin blood, but little of Vanyarin or Human. Wears clothing that is of dark colours to counter her bright hair.

Rómeamírë: eleventh child, born 36 F.A. Possesses straight flame red hair like her mother that surrounds a face tinted with silver and ice blue eyes; has much Telerin and Noldorin blood. Wears clothing that is forest green or silver.

Melyisilmë: twelfth child, born 45 F.A. Possesses curly steely-golden hair that surrounds a face tinted with steely-gold and sapphire blue eyes; mostly has Vanyarin and Noldorin blood. Wears clothing that is white, silver, steel coloured, and gold.

2\. The grey-blue stone that hung from a mithril chain is the Luinsindamírë or the Míréfinwë, first created by Fëanor and then handed down to his descendants; he having foresaw the amount of descendants he should come to have, had made many more of these, for this jewel would mark one Elf as a Fëanorian.

3\. Anglin, the Elfin companion of Narilvrin, is one of the Soronlië, a Maia capable of shifting into an eagle’s form, and serves Manwë Lord of Arda, appointed to watch over Narilvrin.


End file.
